


In the Beginning

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [16]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex isn't actually in this fic, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Backstory, Blood and Gore, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: George marvels at the way Lafayette, Adrienne, and Martha seem to complete each other’s sentences, always on the same page.George leaves for class with the promise to get dinner later and Lafayette’s number scrawled on a napkin burning a hole in his pocket.





	1. Virginia Political Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation so hello again! This fic doesn't actually have Alex in it, but I went ahead and put it in the tag so y'all would see it lmao. 
> 
> Instead of furthering the plot of the story, I'm going to write a dumb background fic b/c I can and it's fun... Enjoy my narrative procrastination.
> 
> P.S. Sorry this chapter is so short. This fic will probably have shorter chapters than my usual fics tbh.

1998  


George ducks into the lecture hall and heads toward the first available seat he can find, keeping his head down to avoid the disgruntled stare of other students as he steps over them to get to the seat. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he gets seated and awkwardly shifts in the small chair. The boy to his right is busy chewing on the end of a pencil—a horrible habit, George absently thinksto himself—but he quickly drops the pencil and gives George a friendly grin. George is a little taken back when the boy offers his hand for a handshake. 

George hastily sets his notebook down and grabs the offered hand. The boy’s hand is soft and his grip is strong.

“Gilbert Lafayette,” he says. He has a slight french accent, but he pronounces his name the American way. George must look confused because Lafayette chuckles. “I moved here from France when I was younger and the accent stuck. Americans are kinda dumb, though, and I got tired of correcting the pronunciation of my name.” He shrugs and smiles again. 

George swallows nervously and smiles tentatively. “Nice to meet you. I’m George.” George pauses and braces himself. “Washington… George Washington.” He cringes and waits for the familial connection to dawn on Lafayette, but he just nods and gives George a thumbs-up.

“Cool. Now, let me guess… freshman, right?” 

George’s cheeks burn a little and he nods. “That obvious, huh?” Lafayette just starts to laugh and winks. 

“Nah. I’m a freshman too. I’m just messing with you.” Lafayette smiles again and George can’t help but smile himself; Lafayette’s smile is infectious.

He’s handsome in a way that makes him look older than he really is. He’s lean—he probably plays some sort of sport—and has bright, mischievous brown eyes. His curly black hair is worn in a small afro, and his beard and mustache are both carefully trimmed.

“Are you a political science major?” George asks, trying to fill the silence. Lafayette nods and starts to chew on his pencil again.

“Sure am.” He gives George an appraising look and nods. “You too?”

George nods and smiles ruefully. “Of course.” 

Lafayette raises his eyebrows at George’s cryptic answer, but then the professor is striding in and the room falls silent. Their professor is tall and thin with a long, dour face and deep set brown eyes. His mouth twists into a smile. 

“Good afternoon and welcome to Modern Virginian Politics. If that’s not the class you signed up for, I suggest you leave now.” 

There’s a smattering of polite laughter and the professor nods. “Now, my name is Patrick Henry, and I ask that you please address me as either Dr. Henry or Professor Henry. Since this isn’t that large of a class, and I do have an attendance policy, I’ll be taking roll each day. Before we get to the syllabus, I’ll do that now.” 

Lafayette nudges George’s foot with his own and rolls his eyes. George smiles and starts to absently twirl his pen in his fingers as Dr. Henry goes through the roll. When he calls Lafayette’s name, Lafayette says “here” in an overly exaggerated French accent and George laughs out loud. 

As usual, George’s name is last on the list, and he starts to sink down in his seat when he sees the way Dr. Henry’s eyebrows shoot up to his receding hairline. 

“Well,” he says amusedly. “It seems that we have some Virginia political royalty amongst us today.” 

George ducks his head as people start to look around in confusion. 

Dr. Henry smiles brightly and looks right at George. “George Washington?” 

George meekly raises his hand and stares at the word ‘FUCK!” that’s been crudely carved into his desk with pencil. 

“The son of the great Senator Augustine Washington. Can anyone other than George tell me who that is?” 

Some girl up front raises her hand and Dr. Henry points at her. “The first black senator from Virginia,” she says proudly, twisting around to ogle at George. 

George wishes that he could just get up and disappear, cast off the iron shackles that the name Washington locks around his ankles.

Then Lafayette reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, and George warms with the grounding contact.

Dr. Henry immediately launches into a lecture, but George doesn’t pay very much attention. He copies what’s written on the board, but he doesn’t comprehend it. He can still feel the stares of his classmates, the surprised whispers, the disdainful glances from the obvious Republicans. 

When class ends, George is coiled tightly, ready to spring out of his chair and leave, but Lafayette reaches out and grabs his arm, jerking him to a stop. 

“Damn, Speedy Gonzalez,” he jokes. “You wanna get lunch? I’m meeting my girlfriend and a friend of our’s right now.” 

_No_. 

“Yeah sure,” George says a little shyly. Lafayette gives George another dazzling grin and George smiles right back as he follows him out of the classroom. 

“So,” Lafayette says conversationally as they exit the building. “That was awkward as fuck. Sorry he called you out like that dude.”

George shrugs. “I’m used to it. Thanks for not being weird about it.” 

Lafayette laughs and shakes his head. “My guardian—my parents died when I was a kid, long story—is the CEO of Versailles Motors. I get it.” 

“You’re Louis Bourbon’s son?” George asks, a little surprised. 

“Technically his ward, but yeah.” Lafayette shrugs and smiles goofily. “It’s a hard knock life, isn’t it?” 

George smiles and is about to reply when Lafayette suddenly jumps up in excitement and starts to wildly wave his arm. “Martha, Adrienne!” he shouts. “Over here!” 

George cringes as people turn to look at them, but then Lafayette is tugging on his arm and talking a mile a minute, gushing about his friends and how much George will like them. He awkwardly stumbles after Lafayette and stares at the ground as Lafayette jerks to a stop and pulls two girls into a tight hug. All of them laugh, and George feels woefully out of place until Lafayette grabs his hand and tugs him into the hug. He’s suddenly squished in between Lafayette and a girl with beautiful, caramel skin and sweet smelling hair, and he feels a little dizzy. 

“This, my ladies,” Lafayette says after they all untangle themselves from the hug, “is George Washington, my new prospective best friend.” 

George coughs and his cheeks burn as the two girls, both of them staggeringly beautiful, laugh and smile at him. Like Lafayette earlier, they don’t comment on the name that George carries like a weight on his shoulders. 

“Hi George. My name’s Adrienne Noailles. Nice to meet you.” Adrienne smiles and daintily shakes George’s hand. 

“And I’m Martha Dandridge,” the other girl, the one with the sweet smelling hair, says. George swallows as she grabs his hand and shakes it. Her grip is strong and sure, and her dark brown eyes are bright and piercing as she studies George, sizing him up. 

He watches her tuck an errant strand of her delicately curled hair behind her ear and wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. She smirks and George realizes with a start that he must be staring. He darts his eyes away and anxiously runs his fingers through his hair.

“Hi,” he says quickly, his voice cracking. He chuckles nervously and clears his throat. “Nice to meet you,” he says a little louder. His father’s words reflect in his mind:

_Project confidence, son, or you’ll never get anywhere in life_. 

“Ooo, Laffy, babe, he’s cute,” Adrienne says as she grabs Lafayette’s hand. Lafayette laughs, and they all start walking to the student center. 

“Yeah he’s alright,” Lafayette teases, winking at George. “When he’s shy he get this cute little closed-mouth, crooked smile on his face. Just wait until you see it.”

George ducks his head and can’t keep the smile off his face. Lafayette pumps his fist and whoops. “Okay. My new favorite game is ‘make George use his shy smile.’”

“Y’all are awful,” Martha chides, bumping George’s arm with her shoulder. “Leave the damn boy alone before you scare him off.”

George clears his throat and hoists his backpack higher on his back as he adjusts his posture. “I’m guessing that you guys knew each other before college?”

“High school,” they all chime in unison. George chuckles nervously and nods. 

“Where—”

“New York,” Martha fills in. “But I grew up in Richmond.” 

George nods and follows them into the small cafeteria situated in the middle of the student center. “Is that why you came here?” 

“Yep. And these two love me so much that they followed me,” Martha says, grinning at Adrienne and Lafayette. “I’m a sophomore and they missed me so much last year that it almost killed them. They can’t stay away from me.”

“What can I say?” Lafayette asks. “I’m friend whipped.”

They get their food and manage to find a relatively clean table in the crush of students, and George tries to be—as his therapist constantly reminds him—‘present.’ He still doesn’t one hundred percent understand what that means, but he gives it his best effort.

“So, George,” Martha says. “Why’d you come here?”

George shrugs and hastily swallows his bite of pizza. “Basketball. And, well, I’m sort of…”

“Virginia political royalty?” Lafayette deadpans. George laughs and nods. 

“Yes exactly.” 

“You play basketball?” Adrienne asks, waggling her eyebrows. “He’s a real catch, guys. We’re gonna have to take good care of Georgie here.” 

“Starting point guard,” he says proudly, reveling in their impressed nods and murmurs. 

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Lafayette announces, smacking the table, “but I just became a _huge_ Virginia basketball fan.” 

“I’m heading over to the bookstore to buy a foam finger as soon as we finish eating,” Adrienne chuckles. “But seriously, that’s really cool.”

Martha smiles at him and leans forward. “Didn’t your brother play here too?” George notices the horrified look that Lafayette shoots Martha, but George ignores it and steamrolls on. 

“My older brother Lawrence did play here.” He hesitates and clenches his jaw. “He died last year,” he says matter-of-factly, but not unkindly. He practiced talking about Lawrence all summer, sat in front of his mirror and answered pretend questions. 

_I have a sister who goes to UCLA, and my brother died last year._

_My brother Lawrence passed away last July._

_My brother went here too, but he passed away last year._

They’re all bullshit, canned answers. If only he could tell the truth:

_My brother Lawrence died and now it’s my responsibility to carry on the family name, so here I am parading around like the good little Washington boy that I am. I’m here to follow in his footsteps. Next step is the war so I suggest you don’t get too attached._

“It was in the fucking news, Martha,” Lafayette mutters under his breath. George pretends not to hear him and straightens his shoulders. 

“I also played football in high school, but I wasn’t that great,” he adds in an attempt to shift the conversation away from his handsome brother buried nine feet under the ground. Sometimes George wishes they could trade places. 

Adrienne instantly perks up at the change in topic and nods. “You seem a little too gentle to play football.” 

“I played football too,” Lafayette says excitedly. “And I was totally great and looked totally hot in my uniform.”

Martha and Adrienne both nod earnestly and George laughs, shoving Lawrence to the back of his mind. “I bet you were, Gilbert,” he says a little teasingly.

“Everyone was always all over my ass,” Lafayette continues, grinning wickedly. “You remember that brute George Danton? He tried so hard to get with me.”

“He totally wasn’t your type,” Adrienne mutters, rolling her eyes. “Hated that guy.”

“The worst,” Martha agrees. 

George marvels at the way they seem to complete each other’s sentences, always on the same page.

George leaves for class with the promise to get dinner later and Lafayette’s number scrawled on a napkin burning a hole in his pocket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't even fcking know what this is but I love the idea of Laf et al. helping shy lil George come out of his shell. 
> 
> I don't go to UVA so idk if they have a place to eat in their student center but my school does so I'm using it. Sorry to anyone who goes to UVA for my fake ass.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	2. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had half of this next chapter written so I just finished it and decided to post it. 
> 
> Sorry if no one is even feeling this fic and I'm just writing random stuff for no reason LMAO.

George wakes up one night seized in panic, the remnants of a dream about his brother slicing into his brain like shards of broken glass. In his dreams Lawrence is alive and healthy, impossibly handsome in his crisp marine uniform. His smile is easy with no traces of bright red blood staining his lips. But George can’t hear him. He can’t talk to him. He can’t reach him to bring him back. And then he’s gone and George feels the loss sharp as a wound in his stomach. 

Luckily George’s roommate is out for the night, because he lets out an embarrassingly loud sob and starts to frantically grope around for the phone he has sitting on his bedside table. 

He shakily dials Lafayette’s number and waits, anxiously twisting the cord around his finger.

“George?” Lafayette says as soon as he picks up, his voice groggy with sleep. “Why’re you calling me at three in the morning? Some of us like to sleep, man.”

George sucks in a sharp breath, the words dying in his throat. 

_I know I’ve only known you for 2 months, but my brother died a year ago and I miss him and I’m really starting to realize that I’m not okay._

“Dude, are you drunk?” Lafayette groans. “George, it’s _Tuesday_. Drink some water, get a trashcan, and lay on your side.”

“Can you come over?” George finally whispers. Lafayette pauses and clears his throat.

“I, uh, yeah. Of course.” George can hear rustling on the other end of the phone and Lafayette softly grumbles something about getting dressed. 

“Sorry…”

“Nah don’t worry about it. I’ll be at your room in like one minute and four seconds. You know I only live like 4 flights up. But I gotta go, okay? Be there soon.”

George hangs up and lays back down in the dark, staring at the ceiling and trying to quell the panic rising like a wave in his chest. Sometimes he feels like he’s a pendulum swinging from one extreme to the other. Some days George is fine and his dead brother and alcoholic mother don’t bother him. But other days George walks around in a foggy daze and spends sleepless nights desperately searching for ways to ease the breathless pain. He takes too many pills, drags razors across his wrists, holds lighters to his arms and watches the flames lick the skin red and raw. 

Then in the morning he’s back to being Georgie: The shy, somewhat reserved, tall guy with a crooked smile and kind eyes. 

But the nights are just for him, when he’s George Washington: The sad, withdrawn boy who has to carry the weight of two men’s graves on his shoulders.

The nights are just for him, but this night feels different and George is scared to be alone because his roommate is gone and George has always been reckless when it comes to his own life. He briefly wonders how long it would take to get a bloodstain out of the dorm room carpeting.

Then there’s an impatient knock on the door that pulls George out of his thoughts and he jumps up to turn the light on and open the door. As soon as Lafayette looks at him, he frowns. 

“George what’s wrong?” 

They walk into the room and sit on George’s bed, leaning against the wall shoulder to shoulder. George sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head. 

“My brother’s dead and I really miss him,” George says, wiping angrily at his face. “He’s dead and I barely remember the way he walked or talked. I’m supposed to be like Lawrence; I have to carry on the legacy my father was trying to build for him, but I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough, and it’s all just too much.” George chokes off into a sob and sucks in a ragged breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

Lafayette gives him a helpless look and George crumples over and starts to cry. It’s a loud, messy cry with a torrential downpour of tears and snot, and his whole body jerks with the force of his sobs. He hasn’t cried this hard in almost a year.

Lafayette just wraps his arm around George’s waist and pulls George into his side. 

“You’re okay, George,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” George manages to hiccup after several minutes of gasping sobs. “I’m just really not okay right now and you’re the closest thing I have to a best friend so I figured I could call you.”

“You can _always_ call me,” Lafayette says firmly. “I’ll always be here for you, okay? Always.”

George nods and sags against Lafayette as he starts to calm down a little. His face is a mess and he halfheartedly wipes it on his shirt. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

George nods and takes a deep, stuttering breath. “I’m trying my best just to keep my head above water, but my mom fucking hates me because I’m alive and Lawrence isn’t. She loved him more than me. _Everyone_ loved Lawrence more than me.” 

“Hey, c’mon, I doubt that’s true—”

“It is,” George snaps. “I know it is. My mom gets drunk and tells me that she would trade me for Lawrence. I know it’s true.” George sniffs and agitatedly wipes at the new tears starting to fall. “She resents me because I’m just a worse version of my brother. How am I supposed to amount to anything if I’m constantly competing with a ghost? I’m too quiet and shy, too sensitive, too _gay_ to ever be good enough for my mother.” George laughs nervously again and sniffs. 

“Wait, you’re gay?” Lafayette asks.

George falters, a little surprised. “Well, technically bi, but yeah,” George says slowly before shaking his head, shoving Lafayette’s shoulder, and rolling his eyes. “I love that, out of all that shit I just told you, the gay part is the only thing you paid attention to.”

“Oh fuck off,” Lafayette says, shoving George right back. “I was listening. I’ll have you know that I’m a great listener.”

George gives Lafayette a watery smile and nods. “I really do appreciate you coming over. Sorry for waking you up,” George says, suddenly guilty with how early it is. “You can… if you need some sleep you can leave. I’m fine now.”

Lafayette arches an eyebrow and purses his lips. “Mm I don’t think so. I’d rather stay here if that’s okay with you.”

George frowns and tightens his jaw. “I’m okay, Gil. I don’t need you to babysit me.” 

“The scars on your wrist suggest otherwise,” Lafayette says evenly, giving George a stern look. “I’d rather stay.”

George blanches and physically recoils, jerking himself away from Lafayette and folding his arms subconsciously against his chest. 

“I’m fine,” he chokes out. 

“It’s okay, George. I’m not judging you or anything. I’m just… we’re worried about you.”

“Martha knows too?” George asks weakly, his heart thudding hard in his chest. He laughs and angrily rubs his eyes. “Just great,” he snaps. “Now everyone I find attractive knows that I’m some fucked up, depressed asshole who gets his kicks from hurting himself.” 

Lafayette chuckles and George immediately feels shame burn hot in his stomach, his chest tightening. “Are you _laughing_ at me?” he asks, equal parts mortified and hurt. Lafayette immediately sobers up and shakes his head fervently, reaching over to grab George’s hand. 

“Shit, no. I’m sorry. I just—you said that you find me attractive.” Lafayette smiles and shrugs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I seriously wasn’t laughing at you.”

Lafayette squeezes George’s hand and he looks down at their intwined fingers, cautiously rubbing Lafayette’s knuckles with his thumb. 

“I do,” George breathes. “Always have.” 

Lafayette reaches over and tips George’s chin up to meet his eyes. “For the record, I think you’re attractive too.” 

George swallows and drops his gaze back down to his lap. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We aren’t exclusive.” 

The breath catches in George’s throat as Lafayette leans in closer, the scent of his day-old cologne and sweat thick in the air around them. He lets go of George’s hand and cups his face. His palms are smooth, and George finally looks back up to meet Lafayette’s eyes. 

“Look, Gil—”

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” 

Before George has a chance to answer, Lafayette’s lips are pressed against his. Lafayette’s lips are soft and full and his beard scratches against George’s chin. 

When they pull apart, they sit there staring at each other, both of them gulping in deep breaths. 

Lafayette smiles fondly and gently caresses George’s cheek. “I’m glad you called me tonight,” he whispers, his breath warm against George’s skin. 

“I didn’t trust myself to be alone,” he says honestly, hating the way Lafayette tries—and fails—to cover up a cringe.

“Have you tried talking to someone, George?” 

George nods and lets Lafayette maneuver them so that they’re lying down facing each other. Once they’re situated, George sighs. “I have a therapist I talk to sometimes, but I’m not really into the whole divulging painfully personal information to strangers thing.”

“That’s fair,” Lafayette murmurs as he idly strokes George’s side. George shivers and nods. 

“Gilbert, what’re we doing?” 

“I’m comforting you because you’re sad and quote ‘really not okay,’” Lafayette quips. George rolls his eyes and presses on, ignoring the easy out. 

“I’m serious, Gil. I don’t want to do the whole poly thing, and I’m not interested in casual sex.”

“And you’re going to fall in love with Martha, get married, and have a beautiful son named Gilbert,” Lafayette says matter-of-factly. George can’t stop himself from laughing, but he tapers off into a husky sigh when Lafayette squeezes his hip, which makes Lafayette smirk. George gives him a withering look.

“Well, you’re obviously going to fall in love with Adrienne, get married, and have a beautiful son named George, so again, what’re we doing?” 

Lafayette smiles and kisses the tip of George’s nose. “Sometimes friends who find each other attractive just need to kiss. I’ve kissed Martha before. And you obviously needed to cuddle. Ideally you would be cuddling with Martha, but I’m always down for some manly cuddles between men.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know.” Lafayette grins and squeezes George’s hip again. “C’mon, you need some sleep.”

George winces and tenses up. He doesn’t want to see Lawrence again. 

Lafayette just shushes George and nudges him onto his side. He snakes his arms around George’s waist and George slowly relaxes against Lafayette’s solid, warm body behind him. “If you have another nightmare, I’ll be right here. I’ll always be here for you,” Lafayette murmurs.

“Thanks Gilbert,” George whispers. Lafayette squeezes him in a hug and nuzzles the back of his neck. 

“Don’t mention it.”

They both fall silent and the only sound in the room is their collective breathing, an oddly soothing, quiet, simpatico cadence. 

“Hey Gil?” George whispers after what could’ve been a few seconds or a few hours. The darkness makes it easy to lose track of time. 

Lafayette grunts and nods. “Yeah?”

“You and Adrienne should be exclusive.”

“I know,” Lafayette says through a yawn. “I just needed to kiss you first. Now, go to sleep. It’s like five in the morning, and I need my beauty rest.”

George hums in agreement and lets Lafayette hold him. 

\---

They all go over to Martha’s apartment Friday night to celebrate Lafayette and Adrienne finally making their relationship exclusive, and they order Chinese takeout that they eat with cheap wine Martha’s roommate bought for her. The food is delicious and the wine on the better side of disgusting.

Lafayette and Adrienne sit curled up on the couch together all giggly and sweet, Martha sits on the other end of the couch, and George stretches out on the floor, occasionally sending shy glances Martha’s way. 

When the room is pleasantly spinning and everything feels warm, George sits up and laughs. Martha arches an eyebrow and looks at him amusedly. 

“What’s so funny Georgie?” she asks, her words slowed by the alcohol. 

“M’drunk,” George slurs. “Love being drunk.”

“Stop being such a cute drunk, George,” Adrienne shouts. “I can’t handle it.”

“Isn’t he soooo fucking cute?” Lafayette asks. “He’s like this big, cuddly teddy bear.”

George shivers, remembering the way Lafayette’s arms felt around his waist. 

“Y’all are embarrassing him,” Martha says, sliding off the couch to sit next to George. She affectionately scratches George’s head, playing with his curls. 

“Too drunk to care,” George says, slowly shaking his head. Martha laughs and tugs his arm around her. The breath catches in George’s throat and he has to remind himself to breathe as he pulls Martha closer, his arm easily looping around her slender waist. 

Lafayette meets George’s eyes and nods, smiling. 

They shortly pop open another bottle of wine and pass it around, all of them taking long pulls. Once it’s gone, George lays down with his head in Martha’s lap and closes his eyes against the spinning of the room. Lafayette and Adrienne crank up some pulsing pop music that reverberates nauseatingly in George’s head, and he distantly hears Martha ask them to turn it down a little. 

Then Martha is murmuring to him that they should go to her room where it’s quieter and George nods, ignoring the knowing look Lafayette shoots him as they tell each other goodnight. Lafayette and Adrienne are going to sleep in Martha’s roommate’s bed. She’s never here (she mostly stays with her boyfriend) so her room acts largely as a guest bedroom. 

George collapses down on Martha’s soft bed and groans as she chuckles. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” he slurs with mock indignation. “I don’t feel well.” 

“You better not throw up on my bed,” she says as she tugs his shoes off for him. 

“I won’t. I’m a good boy,” George snickers. 

“You’re drunk,” Martha says dryly. George watches her as she goes into her bathroom and comes back out with a small trashcan lined with a plastic bag and a glass of water. 

George groans and pushes himself into a sitting position so he can drink the water. “Thanks.”

“Don’t drink it too fast,” Martha says as she walks over to her dresser. “I’m gonna change into pajamas.”

“Want me to look away?” George asks, a lazy smirk on his face. Martha returns his smirk. 

“Nope.”    


George swallows as she pushes her jeans off, and prays that he’s too drunk to get hard as she bends over to pull a pair of shorts out of the bottom drawer. 

He watches through hooded eyes as she changes and shivers under her smoldering, almost amused gaze. 

“Is it okay if I get undressed?” George asks. Martha laughs and nods. 

“Yeah, but I doubt you can do it yourself. I’ll help you.” 

George’s heart rate jumps to a jackrabbit pace when Martha unbuttons his jeans and helps him out of them, politely ignoring his very obvious erection. Apparently he’s not too drunk. George looks away and clears his throat. 

“Sorry—”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

She climbs into the bed and wraps her arms around him, nuzzling the back of his neck. George sighs and lets his eyes droop closed. 

“Is this just us cuddling as friends or are you doing this because you like me?” George manages to ask, fighting the enticing pull of sleep. Martha laughs, her warm breath buffeting his neck.

“This is us cuddling because I like you.”

George nods and sighs. “Did Lafayette talk to you about Tuesday?” 

Martha is quiet for a few seconds and kisses his shoulder. “He did.” 

George bristles and tenses up. “Look, whatever he told you, I was just upset. I’m not normally that bad.”

Martha squeezes him in a hug. “It’s okay.”

_No it’s not. I need you to help me._

“Thanks.”

George goes to sleep with Martha’s arms warm around him, but he knows that he can’t stay. Martha doesn’t need someone like George. She needs someone quick witted and alert, someone enthusiastic and passionate about being alive. 

She needs someone happy. 

And George isn’t that person. Not anymore. 

So he lets himself sleep for a couple of hours, passing through a succession of odd dreams that flash through his consciousness too fast for him to completely process.

He wakes up drenched in sweat and nauseous with a pounding headache. Martha is still asleep and he takes a few seconds to savor the image before getting dressed and slipping out of the apartment. He catches the bus and goes home to the dorm where he throws up, takes a shower, and goes back to sleep. 

He dreams about Martha. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun... revealin so much about George and Laf's relationship. 
> 
> I promise we'll get back to the real actual plot of this series soon (it's gonna be intense af y'all). This fic is purely for my own indulgence. 
> 
> Comments are dope and I live off of them.


	3. Now that You're Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be asking yourself, why can't this bitch just make George happy? IDK.
> 
> Enjoy this STUPID FIC (aka narrative procrastination/prolonging the inevitable end of this series)

Gilbert Lafayette prides himself on being level-headed and calm. He doesn’t worry too often, doesn’t smother his friends. Or he didn’t. 

Then he met George Washington. 

He’s gentler than his tall, broad frame would suggest. He’s all lean muscle and long limbs, but he doesn’t flaunt it. He bundles himself up in too-big sweaters that fall past his knuckles if he doesn’t keep the sleeves properly rolled up. 

When they hang out, George is full of easy smiles and big, boisterous laughs, so it’s easy to forget the way his tears felt as hot as wax on Lafayette’s shoulder or the sound of his harsh, choking sobs in Lafayette’s ear. It’s easy to forget the thin white scars lining his wrist.

But Lafayette doesn’t forget. 

So when George misses class Monday, Lafayette has to remind himself that George is a big boy who can take care of himself. There’s no need to overreact. 

He meets Martha and Adrienne for lunch and they all try to ignore George’s glaring absence.

“I think I upset him,” Martha says. “He left before I woke up Saturday morning.” 

_George is probably just tired. He’s allowed to blow us off._

When George ignores his calls, Lafayette has to remind himself that George is entitled to his privacy. They haven't known each other that long; if this is George’s way of politely informing them that he doesn’t want to be friends anymore then so be it. There’s _no need_ to overreact. 

He meets Martha and Adrienne for dinner at Martha’s apartment and they all try to ignore the empty fourth chair they’ve already gotten used to being filled. 

They smoke a few bowls and get high off their asses, and Lafayette wonders if George has ever smoked weed. 

“George would be so cute high,” he announces to no one in particular. Beside him, Adrienne nods emphatically and gasps. 

“Oh my God he totally would be. We should call him!”

“I think he’s avoiding me,” Martha murmurs as she twists the edge of her blanket in her hands. “I guess I misread the situation.”

“He’ll come around,” Lafayette says with a surety he doesn’t actually feel. 

When George skips class again Wednesday, Lafayette gets up and leaves in the middle and walks to their dorm so quickly that his legs burn. He goes straight to George’s room and starts to pound on the door. It’s time to overreact.

“George! Open the door!” Lafayette shouts.

He’s met with silence, and Lafayette groans in frustration. “George Washington I swear to God. Open this door before I kick—”

The door swings open and Lafayette comes face to face with George. His eyes are bloodshot and the bags underneath them look like angry, black bruises. His face is covered with scratchy, black stubble. He glares at Lafayette and clenches his jaw. 

“What?” he asks roughly. 

“Can I come in?” Lafayette asks, raking his eyes over George’s disheveled state. He’s in short basketball shorts and a long, too-big t-shirt that comes down over his hands. There’s an ugly, dark red stain on the hem. 

“I guess.”

George disappears into his room and Lafayette hurries after him. His usually neat side of the room is a mess, and Lafayette winces. 

“George what’s wrong?”

George tenses up and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You’ve skipped class twice now and you’re ignoring us.” 

George spins around and stalks up to Lafayette, drawing himself up to loom in Lafayette’s personal space. 

“Look, I don’t owe you anything,” George snarls, jabbing hard at Lafayette’s chest. Lafayette has to remind himself to keep his face neutral. 

“I know,” he says calmly. “I didn’t say that you did.”

“I’m not your charity case,” George continues, jabbing another finger into Lafayette’s chest. “I’m not your sad little depressed friend who you follow around trying to fix. I don’t need you or your fucking pity.” 

“I know,” Lafayette repeats, his heart hammering hard in his chest. 

“Then stop calling!” George shouts, his voice cracking. “Just leave me alone.”

“We’re worried, George,” Lafayette tries, but George glares at him and his nostrils flare. 

“Why? I’m not going to kill myself. Do you know how badly that would reflect on my family?” George snaps, and Lafayette can’t stop the wince that contorts his face. George must notice it because he shoves hard at Lafayette’s chest. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he mocks. “You’re worried that I’m going to hurt myself?”

Lafayette doesn’t say anything, just stares at George and tries not to betray the pain that’s twisting in his chest. George glares at him and shoves him again. Lafayette’s back hits the wall with a thunk. 

“I don’t need you or your pity,” George says, his breath hot against Lafayette’s cheek. His eyes are flashing angrily and the vein in his neck pulses. 

“I know,” Lafayette says calmly. “I just want to help you because I care about you.”

“Why?” George shouts, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Why do you care? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” 

“Because you’re my friend.” 

Lafayette watches George falter, opening and closing his mouth. Then he deflates and Lafayette takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around George’s shoulders. George slumps forward into the embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay.” 

Lafayette ignores the shuddering, wet sound George makes. Ignores the bandages that peak out from underneath his sleeve. 

After what feels like forever, George lets Lafayette convince him to take a shower. He tidies up for George, feeling a little guilty when he spends too long staring at the small picture of Lawrence George has sitting on his bedside table. 

Then Lafayette convinces George to come to lunch, and he reluctantly agrees. When Martha and Adrienne see him, their eyes light up but Lafayette gives them a stern look. Their smiles falter. 

“Hey Georgie,” Adrienne says a little too cheerfully. George gives her a tired smile and it’s so unlike his normal smile that Lafayette wants to cry. 

“Hey.”

It’s the only thing he says. Lafayette watches him robotically eat his food, swallowing hard as if it pains him to eat it. He keeps his head down, shrugs off the hand Martha puts on his arm. Lafayette shoots her a look and she nods. 

A few minutes later, and despite George’s grumbling, she’s tugging him away with a determined look on her face. 

“Think she can talk some sense into him?” Adrienne asks as she reaches over to take a french fry off his plate. 

“Definitely.” Lafayette kisses her cheek and chuckles. “And I have a feeling that it won’t be the last time she does, either.” 

*******

George stumbles after Martha as she forcefully drags him to the Lawn, ignoring the amused looks of other students as they walk by. 

She finally stops under one of the tall, towering trees and plops down in the shade. He stands there staring down at her and she rolls her eyes. 

“Sit.” 

He does as he’s told and she nods in approval. “Good. Now, tell me what the fuck is going on with you.”

George swallows nervously and glances away, squinting his eyes against the sun. 

“I don’t want to—” his voice falters and he takes a steadying breath. “I don’t want to date you.”

The lie stings like a slap in the face.

“You’re a horrible liar.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

Martha laughs and George flinches, his face burning in shame. She immediately stops laughing and grabs George’s hand. 

“George—”

“Stop,” he whispers. “Please just stop.”

Martha takes her hand away and he instantly misses the warmth. 

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, okay?” George snaps. 

“Oh my God, George. Are you actually being serious right now?” Martha laughs again and George nervously chews on his lip. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “I’m not—you deserve someone better than me.” 

“You are such a man,” Martha mutters. “Don’t tell me who I can and can’t date, George. I’ll date you if I want to date you, regardless if you think I deserve you or not. Don’t be a martyr.”

“Martha please,” George begs, finally turning to look at her. “I’ll just end up hurting you and then everyone will hate me.” 

“Well, as long as you don’t do something shitty like cheat on me or hit me then I think it’ll be fine. We’re not kids, George. I think we can handle adult emotions and adult situations. If we break up, Adrienne and Lafayette will be mature enough to handle it without ostracizing you. But I don’t understand why you’re dooming our relationship as a failure when we haven’t even tried dating yet.”

“I always fuck everything up,” George mutters. “And I’m not all fun like you guys are.”

“You mean happy?”

George stares at her and nods, the words dying on his lips. 

_I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. My brother died and it changed everything, and I don’t know what to do._

“Yes,” George finally whispers. 

“That’s okay. It won’t hurt forever.” 

When she kisses him it feels like coming home and he knows that he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else in his entire life. 

Her hands are soft and her voice even softer as she strokes his face and whispers promises in his ear. 

_“It’ll be okay.”_

_“I’ll be here for you.”_

_“We’ll take it one step at a time.”_

_“You deserve to be happy.”_

_“Let me make you happy.”_

He keeps kissing her so he doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t trust himself to talk.

They lay down in the grass together and George stares up at the brown and yellow leaves, watching them flutter to the ground as they fall off one by one. 

Martha talks and talks, filling the silence that always seems to haunt him. She talks to him about the Human Genome Project—“it’s so fascinating, don’t you think?”—and her favorite books and movies; she asks him about his horses and promises to go riding with him soon; she tickles his side until he smiles and laughs. 

They go back to her apartment and make pasta together, dancing and singing along to the radio as they work. George never sings anymore, and it feels good. When he’s with Martha everything feels a little kinder. Breathing is a little easier. 

When they finish eating, they get drunk off cheap vodka and Sprite and lay down on Martha’s bedroom floor. She has glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling and George stares at them, mesmerized. 

Martha gently nudges his side. “What’re you thinking about? You’re quiet.” 

Billy Joel is playing quietly in the background and George closes his eyes. _Piano Man_ always makes him sad. 

“Just stuff,” George murmurs. He turns his head to look at her and she smiles. 

“What kind of stuff?” 

“This song. Doesn’t it make you sad?” 

Martha frowns and shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess it’s a pretty sad song.” 

George closes his eyes and nods. “I”m afraid I’ll end up like that. Unhappy and unfulfilled.” George pauses and smiles ruefully. “Just like my dad.”

“George,” Martha says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“You wanna know a secret?” George asks, ignoring Martha’s question. She reaches over and trails her fingers down his cheek, her eyebrows furrowed. 

_Maybe she’s already regretting getting involved with me, sees how fucked up I am._

“Sure George,” she says softly. George gives her a drunken smile.

“My dad cheated on my mom. I caught them in his bed.” George laughs and shakes his head. “It was my birthday. He died two months later.” 

Martha is quiet for what seems like forever before she sighs and squeezes George’s hand. “Lets go to bed, George. You’re drunk.”

“Okay.” 

George lets her pull him to the bed and clumsily help him out of his pants, accepts the glass of water and Advil she gives him. They lay in bed together and George continues to stare at the stars, now faded from the lack of light to absorb. 

Martha reaches over to hold his hand, and George tenses when her fingers trail up his hand to rub along the edge of the thick bandage he has wrapped around his wrist. His stomach churns nervously, but Martha seems oblivious to the tidal waves of anxiety crashing down on George’s beach. She just pushes George’s sleeve up and wraps her slender hand around the bandage, her fingers just barely touching due to the width of George’s wrist. 

“Martha,” he whispers, his voice tight and choked. “Please.”

“Why do you do it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” George lies.

“No one does something without knowing why,” Martha says as she pulls his arm to her lips and kisses the bandage. Hot tears burn in George’s eyes and his chest is so tight that it’s painful to even breathe.

“It helps with the pain,” George finally says. He tries to tug his arm away and to his surprise, Martha lets him. His arm slides out of her grasp and he immediately curls in on himself. Shame burns hot under his skin and he has to fight the urge to get up and leave. 

“I’m sorry, George.” 

George makes a small sound of acknowledgement, not trusting himself to speak. Martha rucks his shirt up and gently trails her fingers up and down his back, soothing him. His eyes droop closed and he sighs softly. 

“I used to be not be like this,” he says gruffly. Martha’s hand still for a second before resuming its movements. 

“I don’t mind,” Martha says firmly. George wants to ask if she’s lying.

“You can’t fix me,” he says instead.

“Who said I was trying to fix you?” 

George falls silent at that and Martha wraps her arms around his waist, holding him in her surprisingly strong grip. 

“Am I ever going to be the big spoon?” George teases. Martha chuckles, her breath warm against his neck, and she playfully nips his shoulder. 

“Maybe. You’re just so nice and sweet and fun to hold.” She squeezes him in a hug and George smiles. 

She’s good at making him smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw :') Doesn't this make Martha's death like 100x sadder? It made me very sad.
> 
> Next (idk how many) chapters, George won't be as emo I PROMISE. 
> 
> ALSO, just totally (finally) thought up what I wanted to happen at the end of this series and... hmmm... can't wait for it. Gonna be angsty af.
> 
> Comments make me happy <3 Thanks to everyone who reads/leaves kudos/comments on this shit ass series.


	4. Borrowed Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I love this chapter and had so much fun writing it. If you thought you were sad about Martha before get fucking ready.
> 
> This chapter is set in 1999 (as I notate there at the beginning) the first three chapters take place in 1998. I just went back and added that to clarify so now everyone knows! 
> 
> Shoutout to AllieCat for calling me out as a fake ass hoe. I thought I could write George not emo, but George is so emo in this chapter. I literally can't make him not emo.

1999

George has never liked to take things slowly. Maybe it’s because he’s young. Maybe it’s because death has haunted him his whole life and he feels like he’s living on borrowed time. One day he might learn to take his time, but for now, he’s got his foot firmly planted on the gas pedal with no plans on stopping any time soon. 

It’s the night of his 19th birthday when he finally decides to tell Lafayette that he’s going to buy a ring.

They’re both drunk off their asses sitting in the courtyard outside Martha’s—now _his_ and Martha’s—apartment building. The apartment started to feel claustrophobic, the air too hot, the room spinning in the kind of way that makes it hard to tell which way is up or down and everything is so distorted that he forgets where he is. 

George always gets too drunk. Maybe it’s because he’s living fast, letting his life speed by while simultaneously trying to make the moment last. He never wants to forget this feeling. He can’t wait until it’s gone. 

So Lafayette drags him outside and they plop down around one of the outdoor tables, the wire chair uncomfortably stiff against George’s back. He takes a deep breath and drops his head down to rest on his folded arms. Lafayette lights up a cigarette—he always smokes when he’s drunk—and George tries to ignore the nauseating smell. 

“You seem sad,” Lafayette says. “It’s your birthday; perk up Georgie.”

George blows out a stream of air through his nose and shrugs. “I feel like I’m hurtling full speed toward my death and it’s a little stressful,” George slurs. Lafayette snorts and chuckles. 

“You’re 19, not 50. Loosen up. Things aren’t so bad right now.”

“Yeah,” George sighs, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. He pictures Martha’s smiling face in his head and it fills him with the sort of warmth that makes his chest painfully tight. He didn’t think it was possible to love someone so much that it hurts. 

George raises his head and watches as Lafayette blows out a steady stream of smoke, his head tipped back to reveal his throat. He looks back down at George with a lazy, drunken smile on his face. 

“You’re looking at me weird.” He crushes the cigarette in the ashtray and lights up another. 

George’s stomach starts to churn nervously and he swallows down the surge of nausea. He needs to tell Lafayette about the ring. 

He’s just afraid. Afraid that Lafayette will laugh at him. Afraid that Lafayette will yell at him. Afraid that Lafayette will talk him out of it. 

George wants to— _needs to_ —marry Martha before they finish college. They’ve only got a year and a half left, three semesters. George is graduating a year early so he can get right to his military career. Like always, he’s racing to the next phase of his life. 

If he dies in the army, he wants to have at least been married to Martha. Maybe it’s selfish (it is), but George isn’t perfect and truth be told he’s always been a little entitled, the end result of growing up with more money than anyone would ever need. 

So he’s going to marry Martha and he’s not going to let Lafayette talk him out of it. 

Except George is scared and knows that some part of him is _hoping_ that Lafayette talks him out of it. Needs any easy out. 

He has to make sure that part of him shuts the fuck up, and Lafayette would only enable it. But George is going to remain strong. He can do this. 

He takes a deep breath. And another. 

“I’m buying Martha a ring,” he spits out, immediately screwing his eyes shut as if Lafayette might hit him. 

But Lafayette is completely silent and George slowly cracks his eyes open to gauge his reaction. He’s just staring at him, his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. 

The anxiety shoots through him like an icy bolt of lightning, and George clutches his stomach as the combination of way too much alcohol and overwhelming anxiety meet each other in a head-on collision. He distantly hears himself inform Lafayette that he thinks he’s going to throw up, and Lafayette jumps into action. (They’ve done this enough times to have it down to a science). Lafayette quickly grabs one of the neglected flower pots that dot the courtyard at random and hands it to George. 

George starts to throw up and Lafayette herds him back to the apartment so he can sit in the bathroom. George swaps out the flowerpot for the toilet and throws up until tears run down his face. 

Martha immediately comes and sits with him, rubbing his back and draping cool washcloths over his neck. She gently encourages him, cooing like she’s talking to a child. 

_“You’re okay, bud. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”_

_“Good job, bud, you’ve got it. Everything’s okay.”_

_“Don’t worry, sweet love. I’ll clean up the floor. You’re okay.”_

George drunkenly sobs in between painful dry heaves, begging Martha to make it stop. 

Somewhere behind him he hears Lafayette and Adrienne arguing about hospitals and alcohol poisoning. Lafayette mutters about how George sure knows how to kill the mood of the party. Grumbles that George always gets too drunk. Can’t even handle himself at his own damn birthday party. 

George curls up on the floor, the tile cool against his flushed face. He feels like he’s on fire, but he can’t stop shivering. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells Martha over and over again. “I didn’t mean to ruin my party. I’m just afraid to die and I keep getting older and older. Surely it’s gonna get me soon. I’m obviously up next. The last male in the family.”

Martha shushes him and cleans the mess off his face, peals his dirty clothes off him. He starts to cry again when he sees the mess of vomit covering his favorite shirt: Lawrence’s old army t-shirt, and Martha holds him against her chest to try to calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “We’ll get it cleaned, Georgie. I promise. Please don’t cry sweet love.”

Once he calms down, she shuts the bathroom door and helps him out of his socks and underwear and draws him a bath. She bathes him like a child and he sits there shivering as shame rises in him like a tidal wave. 

She brings him some clothes to change into, his softest pajama pants and a comfortable t-shirt, and helps him into the living room where she makes him sit on the couch. 

Lafayette sits next to him and rubs his back. 

“We’re gonna talk about what you told me earlier once you’re feeling better tomorrow,” he murmurs. 

When Martha comes back with a glass of water and a single piece of toast, Lafayette gives him a stern look and George nods, resigned to his fate. 

They go to bed after he finishes the toast and water, and Martha patiently holds him as he fitfully tosses and turns. She doesn’t even get annoyed when he wakes up in the middle of the night and throws the toast up all over himself and the blanket. She just helps him into the bathroom and strips the bed, efficiently making it back up with the spare sheets. She cleans him up with a wet towel and changes his shirt again. 

George apologizes over and over again, but she just cups his face and fixes him with a stern look. 

“I’m not mad at you, Georgie. I’m a little annoyed you let yourself get this drunk, but I’m not mad at you.” 

He miserably nods and marvels at her steadfast patience and love. 

George still doesn’t understand what he did to deserve her. 

Maybe she’s not mad because she knows George would do the same thing for her. He would do anything for her. 

George has always been terrified of dying but he would take a bullet for her without a moment’s hesitation. Martha Dandridge is his entire life, and maybe that’s not healthy, but George has always been too emotional, too passionate. His mother tells him it’s a weakness. Martha tells him it’s a strength. 

\---

George meets Lafayette for a late lunch at his place but can’t bring himself to eat anything. He blacked out and only remembers snippets of what happened last night, but he knows it wasn’t pretty. 

He idly sips a glass of water and watches Lafayette twirl a strand of pasta on his fork. 

“So you’re buying a ring,” Lafayette says, not looking at George. His tone is carefully blasé. 

“Yeah.” George takes a breath and forces himself not to fidget. “I’m buying her a ring.” He tries to sound confident and sure of himself. 

Lafayette finally looks up at him and smiles, that same dazzling grin that made George feel so comfortable that first day of class. 

“Then I’m happy for you, brother. You know I’ll always support you, unless what you’re doing is completely and utterly stupid.”

“So that means you don’t think this is a horrible idea?” George asks hesitantly. 

“You obviously love her and you’ve obviously made up your mind. It might be a little fast, but I trust your judgement. If you think you’re ready then who am I to tell you that you aren’t. Only you can know how you feel. Plus, this decision is about you, not me.” 

George nods and lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

“I love her so much, Gilbert.” He gets momentarily choked up and ducks his head. “She’s my entire world.”

Lafayette smiles, his eyes suddenly misty with unshed tears. “My little brother’s all grown up,” he jokingly croons. George rolls his eyes.

“I’m almost a year older than you, Gil. You’re _my_ little brother.”

“Nah you’re like my sweet little sensitive baby brother.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

George huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah whatever. I love you too.”

\---

He spends an almost obsessive amount of time finding an engagement ring. Lafayette comes with him, only complaining once George drags him to a fifth store. 

“Christ alive, are you ever going to decide on a ring?”

“Shut up,” George mutters as he bends over a case, his nose almost touching the glass. The man behind the counter watches them hawkishly, narrowing his eyes when Lafayette picks up a necklace to look at. 

“Excuse me, can I help you?” he asks, his voice sugary sweet with an edge to it. 

“Yeah thanks,” George says cheerfully. “I’m looking for an engagement ring.” The man narrows his eyes and flickers his eyes over to watch Lafayette for a second, visibly tensing up when Lafayette picks up another necklace to look at. 

Oh how George loves a good dose of racism in the morning. 

The man begrudgingly turns his attention back to George and plasters a fake smile on his face. “Well congratulations. Do you have a particular one you’d like to see?” 

George nods and points at one of the rings in the display. “Can I see that white gold one right there?”

The man opens the cabinet and points at one of the rings. “This one?”

“No, the one next to it with the round diamond.” 

The man pulls it out and sets it down on the counter. “There you go.”

George carefully picks up the ring to look at it. The ring is simple yet beautiful: It’s a white gold rope band with a woven design. The single, round diamond is set in four claw prongs. 

“Can you tell me a bit about it?” George asks as he turns the ring left and right, watching the diamond sparkle in the light. 

“Of course. The band is an 18k white gold and the diamond is a .90 carat, E-S12, very good cut, round diamond.”

George nods and holds the ring out for Lafayette to look at when he walks over. He hums in approval. 

“It’s beautiful, George,” he murmurs. George nods and smiles, already picturing it on Martha’s finger. 

“How much does it cost?”

The man smirks. “I hate to burst your bubble but you may need to look down there in that case, son. This one here is $4,210.”

George stares him right in the eye and smiles politely. “That’s okay. I’ll take this one please.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns, giving George a once over. “You can come over here,” he mutters as he leads them to a small table. 

George just smirks as he tells him the size and leans back in the small upholstered chair. 

“Martha is going to love it,” Lafayette says as he watches the man write out the receipt and information.

“I hope so. It’s kind of simple which I know she’ll like.”

The man glares at George when he hands over his card. 

George gleefully enjoys the way he coughs and sputters when he sees George’s name.

“Congratulations Mr. Washington,” he says meekly as he hands George the bag. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Sir.” 

Once they’re outside the store, Lafayette flips it off and George snickers. Sometimes being Virginia political royalty pays off. 

\---

George has always had a nervous stomach. 

Which is incredibly annoying and more than a little distressing. 

He’s currently standing over the stove at Mt. Vernon trying not to groan as his stomach painfully cramps up again, a sharp shooting pain that’s strong enough to take his breath away. 

“George? You need to stir that,” Martha says as she walks up behind him to peer over his shoulder. He jumps, startled, and breathes through a surge of nausea. 

“Right,” he says through gritted teeth. He shakily gets the wooden spoon and stirs the pasta cooking in the pot. Martha frowns and rubs his shoulders. 

“What’s got you so tense love?” she asks, her voice laced with concern. 

“Just excited for our weekend alone,” he says smoothly. Martha keeps rubbing his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles. His stomach cramps again and he can’t stop the quiet grunt that escapes his lips. 

Martha’s hands still and he can practically feel the worry radiating off of her. “Are you feeling okay?”

George sets the spoon down and turns to face her, pulling her into a hug. “I feel great. I’m with my favorite girl in my favorite place.” George kisses her gently and she smiles into the kiss. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She goes back to the chopping board and George subconsciously sticks his hand in his jacket pocket to touch the smooth ring box he put in there earlier. 

He invited Martha to Mt. Vernon for the weekend so he could ask her to marry him. And now he’s a hot fucking mess. 

His stomach churns and he swallows uneasily. His body hates him and he just knows that it’s mocking him. 

He's only getting more and more nervous, because now everything is almost ready: George has a nice table set up outside for them to eat their meal at because the weather is nice and Martha loves the stars. He almost lit some candles but he doesn’t want to be too cliché. The meal they're cooking together is almost finished. 

Martha chatters animatedly while they cook and George tries to listen but he feels so sick that he thinks he might throw up, and the ring feels like it weighs a hundred pounds where it sits in his pocket, a constant reminder of what he’s about to do. 

George disappears down to the wine cellar to get a bottle of wine and takes a few minutes to just lean against the wall and clutch his stomach, taking deep breaths to try to quell the anxiety burning through his veins. 

_I can do this. It’s just one small question. It can’t be that hard._

He picks out a bottle of wine and barks out a manic, almost hysterical laugh. He wouldn’t be able to buy this bottle of wine in a store but he’s about to ask Martha to marry him. 

Everything is fine. 

Martha is busy plating up the food and George hopes she doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he pours the wine. 

When they finally sit down, Martha smiles at him and she looks so radiant that it takes his breath away. 

“I love you,” he says, his voice choked. Martha furrows her eyebrows and reaches over to cover his hand with hers. 

“I love you too.” George gives her a smile he’s sure must look like a grimace and she frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good, George.” 

“I’m alright,” he assures her. His smile is a little better this time and she goes back to eating, apparently satisfied. 

He forces himself to choke down some of the food. 

_It’s just one question._

George takes a deep breath and nervously gnaws on his lip. Martha gives him a gentle kick under the table. 

“Don’t chew on your lip like that. You’ll break the skin again.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to his lap. Martha kicks him again and he looks up at her. 

“Seriously, George, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to throw up.” 

George laughs nervously and pulls the box out of his pocket, holding it in his lap. “I, um, can I ask you something?” he stutters. 

“Of course,” Martha says slowly.

George darts his tongue out to wet his lips and reaches across the table to take Martha’s hand. “Martha, I love you so much that it literally takes my breath away.” He laughs nervously again, an odd high pitched sound that makes Martha frown. 

“George—”

“Hold on. Let me talk... Please,” he tacks on sheepishly. Martha nods and he sucks in a deep breath. “You completely changed my life, Martha. I was in a really bad place when I started college, but you’ve helped me deal with a lot of that stuff and I finally feel complete again. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, and I hope you feel the same way.” Another steadying breath. “I know that we’re young, and I know that we’re both uncertain about what we want to do in life. But one thing I am certain about is you.” George smiles and shifts his weight. “I’ve always thought the whole getting on one knee thing is dumb, so I’m sorry if I’m ruining your moment.” George pauses to relish the look on Martha’s face as she realizes what he’s doing. Hepulls his hand away and pops open the box before holding it out. “Martha, will you marry me?” 

He screws his eyes shut and Martha laughs, a delightful melodic laugh that makes George smile so big that it hurts. 

“Of course,” she breathes. 

George cracks his eyes open and immediately jumps up and walks over to Martha when he sees the tears glistening on her cheeks. 

“Oh damn, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says, flustered. Martha laughs again and sniffs. 

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s a happy cry. I promise.” 

George kneels down so he’s not looming over her, and he very gently gets the ring and slides it onto her finger. 

His own cheeks are wet with tears now and he quickly reaches up to rub them away, smiling sheepishly. 

“Thanks for saying yes,” he whispers. “I was so nervous.” 

“I couldn’t imagine saying no,” she says softly. 

He lays his head on her thigh and she tenderly strokes his cheek, wiping away his tears. 

If George is living on borrowed time, he might as well spend it how he wants. His father always told him to find what he wants and take it, so here George is, taking what he wants. 

He wonders if his father would be proud of him. 

It’s something they have in common, his father and him. 

Augustine Washington never liked to take things slowly. 

George doesn’t mind that he inherited that particular trait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO now we're all seeing why George was so devastated after Martha died :^) 
> 
> I spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at engagement rings online. I love researching for writing. 
> 
> This is gonna have like maybe two more chapters. Possibly three... then we'll get to the juicy shit. 
> 
> As always, I love me some comments.


	5. George Washington: Loving Husband and Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you turn something happy like a wedding into something emo and sad? Just like this. 
> 
> (Side note: Idk about y'all but I fcking love Laf)

In typical George Washington fashion, he gets cold feet on his wedding day. 

And like always, it’s Lafayette’s job to fix it. 

The morning starts out exactly like Lafayette expected it would: George hunched over the toilet, throwing up the meager amount of food he managed to eat last night. 

Then the morning continues, still right on schedule, with George miserably curled up in bed. Lafayette feels so bad for him that he climbs in bed with him and tentatively wraps his arms around George’s waist, something twisting in his chest when he feels how fiercely George is shaking.

It feels a little scandalous, them curled up in bed together. They haven’t done this since freshman year, since George was bad and painted himself with razor blades. It feels a little scandalous because George is getting married and Lafayette is planning to propose to Adrienne after they graduate. They’re 19 years old, which sounds both horribly old and incredibly young at the same time. 

When you boil it down, they’re just boys pretending to be men. Not even old enough to buy alcohol, yet here they are getting ready for a wedding. It feels a little scandalous, but it also feels right because George is scared and doesn’t feel well, and the way he’s wiping his nose off with his too-long sleeve makes him look so young and vulnerable that Lafayette wants to wrap him up in a hug and never let go. 

So he holds George and George lets himself be held, relaxes against Lafayette as the trembling starts to subside. 

When George seems okay again, Lafayette sits up and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “You don’t need to be so nervous, George. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“What if I’m making a mistake?”

“You’re not.”

Then their morning continues. 

Lafayette fills George up with as many different stomach medicines as he’s allowed to take at one time and lets him sleep. 

Content that George is okay for the moment, Lafayette uses the phone in the living room to call Adrienne and find out how Martha’s doing. 

“She’s so excited,” Adrienne gushes. Lafayette hears giggling in the background and scowls. Why can’t he be part of the bridal party? 

The wedding is being held at a church near Mt. Vernon—Martha’s parents _insisted_ she get married in a church, to everyone’s annoyance—and the reception is being held at Mt. Vernon. George and Lafayette are in one of the guest houses while Martha and the bride’s maids are in another. It would only be a short walk away. 

“That’s good. Sounds like you guys are having fun,” Lafayette mutters. 

Adrienne laughs. “Yeah it’s pretty great. How’s George?”

“Sick and upset,” Lafayette says ruefully. “It’s what I expected, so I came here prepared. 

“Did you ransack the pharmacy?”

“You know it. I got him one of those heating pads for the cramps, some cold compresses for his neck and forehead, and like at least four different medications. He’s set.”

“This is so exciting, Laffy,” Adrienne says wistfully. “I love weddings.”

Lafayette hums and smiles even though she can’t see it. “I know you do,” he teases. “I’ll let you get back to your fun. Tell Martha I said hi.”

Adrienne promises she will and Lafayette hangs up. He quietly goes to check on George and finds him still asleep, his mouth open slightly. He looks so peaceful and it makes Lafayette smile. He gets the small, disposable camera Martha gave him to take pictures with and snaps his first picture of the day. 

Lafayette wakes George up at eleven and makes him eat some toast. Then they start getting ready, carefully putting on their tuxes. George is quiet the entire time, obviously off lost in his thoughts. 

On the car ride to the church, they have a false alarm. George is squirming around in his seat fidgeting nervously while he stares out the window. Lafayette tries talking to him, but he must mention something that sets George off because he grabs his stomach and hunches forward. Lafayette starts to frantically change lanes so he can pull over, but the feeling passes and George gives him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry—”

“Nervous stomach,” Lafayette finishes for him, smirking so George knows he’s only teasing. 

When they pull up to the church, George blanches, and Lafayette reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. 

“You can do this,” he reminds him. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.” 

They’ve each been given rooms to stay in as everyone waits for the wedding to start, so George and Lafayette find the one marked ‘groom’ and sit down on the couch. Lafayette glances at his watch and groans. There’s still an hour and a half to the wedding. 

He glances over at George and pats his shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna go find Adrienne and give you a little time to yourself, okay?” 

George is busy nervously chewing his lip, but he turns and nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lafayette squeezes his shoulder and goes to find Adrienne, hoping George will enjoy the time alone and get himself together. 

He easily finds Adrienne and almost drops down on one knee despite himself when he sees how beautiful she looks in her dress. Martha chose navy blue, powder blue, and white as her colors and the bride’s maids are wearing navy. 

“You look so beautiful,” Lafayette says as he wraps her in a hug. She laughs and kisses him gently. 

“And you look incredibly handsome.” 

Lafayette smiles and kisses her cheek. “You wanna come say hi to George? I was giving him a few moments alone, but I bet he’d love to see you.”

“Of course I wanna see my boy,” she teases. 

So Lafayette takes Adrienne back to George’s room, the day still running blessedly on schedule. 

Until he opens the door and George isn’t there. 

“Holy fuck,” Lafayette says, his shoulders slumping forward. 

“What?” Adrienne asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “Where’s George?”

“Best case scenario? I’m hoping he’s in the bathroom puking. Worst case scenario? He fucking left.”

“Laffy,” Adrienne chides. “He wouldn’t do that. C’mon, don’t overreact. I’m sure he’s just in the bathroom.”

Except he’s not in the bathroom and Lafayette wants to scream. 

The shit he does for George Washington. 

They desperately search the church, looking until it becomes abundantly clear that George is indeed gone. Lafayette sends Adrienne back to Martha, making her promise not to mention this, and he goes out to the car. 

He has a nagging feeling that he knows where George is. 

\---

Lafayette hears George before he sees him. 

“You’re a good boy,” he hears George croon. “You want another carrot, Nelson? Yeah I thought so.” 

Lafayette walks into the stable and finds George standing in Nelson’s stall, his suit jacket stripped off and his bowtie hanging untied around his neck. 

He clears his throat and George snaps his head up, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Gilbert?” he asks incredulously. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

George cringes and steps out of Nelson’s stall. He busies himself with petting the horse’s nose, and Lafayette clears his throat again. “You’re getting married in 30 minutes. Or, well, you’re supposed to be.” 

George looks at Lafayette guiltily and hangs his head. “I don’t think I can do it, Gil,” he whispers. 

“If you leave Martha Dandridge at the altar I’ll fucking kill you,” Lafayette snaps, anger burning hot in his stomach. “She’s been nothing but good to you, and if you hurt her like this, I don’t know if I could forgive you.” Lafayette’s tone is cold and George physically recoils like he’s been slapped. 

“I don’t want to make her a widow,” George whispers. 

“What?” Lafayette asks exasperatedly. 

“I don’t want to make Martha a widow,” George repeats almost urgently. His lip is trembling and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “When I die in the army.” George nervously combs his fingers through his hair. “I’ve already started the enlistment process.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Marrying her… I always knew that it was fucking selfish, but faced with the reality of it… I can’t do this to her.” 

Lafayette has to force himself not to laugh, knows that it would only upset George. So he takes a softer approach and pulls George into a hug. 

“You don’t know that you’re going to die in the war, George,” Lafayette says gently.

“I feel like I am,” George whispers. “I’m scared, Gil.”

Lafayette sighs. “Look brother, I’m not gonna let you dictate the way you live your life based on some weird, fake premonition. Martha knows you’re joining the military, so marrying you is obviously a risk she’s willing to take. She _loves you_ , George. And you love her. Don’t be a fucking idiot and ruin the best thing to ever happen to you.”

George laughs nervously and nods against Lafayette’s shoulder. “What the fuck would I do without you?” 

“Ruin absolutely everything,” Lafayette quips. “Now, lets get you looking presentable again. You smell like horse.”

\---

It’s no secret that George Washington is a cryer. Lafayette has seen him cry more times than he could possibly count. 

When it comes to his emotions, George is like a force of nature. Some people might say it’s a bad thing, being so driven and controlled by emotions, but for George it just works. It makes him a better person, more empathetic, more caring. 

So yes, Lafayette has seen George cry a ridiculous amount of times in a number of different situations. 

And today he gets to add ‘watching George cry as Martha walks down the aisle’ to the list. 

As soon as Martha comes into the chapel, Lafayette hears George suck in a sharp breath and knows that they’re all in for some serious water works. 

By the time she makes it to the altar, George’s face is a mess of tears, and as if she’s forgotten that they aren’t alone, Martha reaches over to wipe them away with her thumb. 

Lafayette watches his two best friends get married, his eyes meeting Adrienne’s every once in a while. 

When the minister tells George that he can kiss the bride, he cups Martha’s face and kisses her with such ardor and intensity that his love for her is practically palpable in the air around them. 

George looks over at Lafayette and nods, mouthing the words ‘thank you.’

Lafayette just smiles and nods right back. He would do just about anything for George Washington.

** *** **

George hopes he never forgets this feeling, hopes he can remember the way it felt to be so _loved_ when he’s stuck a million miles from home weighed down by his heavy military fatigues. 

He can’t stop staring down at the ring on his finger, admiring the way it looks against his skin. It’s a simple platinum band with etchings along the polished edge. It’s not too flashy, but not too plain. 

Martha reaches over to squeeze his hand. “You’re quiet,” she says softly, leaning into his ear. “Everything okay?”

George turns and rubs his nose against her’s. “I’ve never felt better,” he says honestly. 

“Good,” Martha says with a sigh of relief. “I’ve been worried about you.” 

Something twists inside George’s chest and he tries not to acknowledge the hidden implications behind her statement. She’s been worried about him because his brother is dead and doesn’t get to be here, and his mother refused to come. The only true family here for George is his sister. Billy Lee also came, but George doesn’t know if he counts. 

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “I promise.” 

Except it doesn’t feel okay when Martha is swept off by her siblings and nieces and nephews, leaving George to awkwardly socialize with people, his glaring lack of family even more obvious now. 

It feels awful when Martha has her father-daughter dance, but the mother-son dance is conspicuously left off the schedule. 

It makes George’s entire body hurt when he sees Martha and her sisters together, all part of the happy, bubbly bridal party. Lawrence was supposed to be up there beside George. Instead he only had Lafayette. His brother in arms, but not his brother by blood. 

George tries not to let it upset him. He focuses on completely living in the moment, enjoying his time with Martha. He’s always been a good dancer, and he enjoys getting to show off a little. It may be a little distasteful, but George and Martha spend more time off together than they do talking to anyone else. 

But eventually, Martha’s family comes and sweeps her away again and George is left alone to slink off the dance floor and stand by himself. His sister Betty left an hour ago, needing to get back home to her young son, so now he’s completely alone. 

And he tries not to, but he can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Lawrence were here with him. His handsome, smiling face always so sunny and bright that it could light up an entire room. Whereas George has always been a little sullen and, at times, painfully shy, Lawrence was charming and quick-witted, able to put anyone at ease with a kind word or a playful joke. 

George hasn’t _really_ thought about Lawrence in a long time and it takes his breath away, hits him like a punch in the gut, when he realizes how much he wants his brother to be here. _Needs_ his brother to be here. 

Suddenly the room is too loud and too hot and George’s feet carry him toward the exit without him even acknowledging where he’s going. 

Once outside, he gulps in frantic lungfuls of the balmy summer air as he cranes his neck back to look up at the stars and smiles ruefully. He can’t even stay happy on his wedding night. 

But how could he? When the ghost of his brother haunts his dreams and the burden of an unloving mother weighs him down?

George walks without thinking about it, just lets his feet carry him down the well-treaded paths. He starts to sweat in the humidity and heat, feels the beads of moisture rolling down his face and back. 

When he gets the cemetery, he shudders. Ever since he was a little boy he’s always been afraid of the cemetery. 

It doesn’t take long to find his brother’s grave; he could do it blindfolded. He kneels down in the grass, belatedly worrying about dirtying up his tux, and leans his forehead to rest on the cold, smooth stone. 

“I sure wish you were here, Lawrence,” George whispers, shivering at the feeling of his brother’s name on his tongue. He never says his name anymore. “You’d love Martha. She’s so funny and smart; you wouldn’t be able to pull any of your bullshit on her.” George laughs and wipes his eyes. 

“I’m sure I would love him too.”

George jumps when he hears Martha walk up behind him, turning to look at her. She’s holding her heels in her hands, still in the dress she changed into for the reception. She carefully walks over to him and stands beside him, her hand falling to rest on the top of his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he says guiltily. 

“Why?” She soothingly combs through his hair before kneeling down next to him. 

“I left my own wedding reception,” he mutters. “Who does that?”

“Who cares?” Martha says, shrugging and kissing his forehead. “You did what you needed to do.” 

George sniffs and gives her a watery smile. “You didn’t have to come out here. You’re going to cut up your feet walking barefoot.”

Martha rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder. “I think I’ll be okay, Georgie.” She smiles at him and he lets out a shaky sigh. 

He turns to rest his head against Lawrence’s grave again and Martha starts to rub his back. “Are you okay love?”

“I don’t really know,” he says honestly. 

He glances at the empty plot next to Lawrence’s grave. His plot. He wonders what his headstone would say. 

_George Washington: Loving husband, brother, and son?_ Unlikely considering his mother hates him. 

_George Washington: Loving husband and brother?_ Much more likely. 

When he dies, he’ll be entitled to a military burial, just like his brother was. He has Lawrence’s flag in their apartment. Martha can put George’s next to it. 

“Lets go back inside, love,” Martha says softly. “Get you some water.”

“Okay, but I’m gonna carry you.” 

Martha rolls her eyes, but he catches a glimpse of her smile as he hoists her into his arms, grinning when she giggles and gasps. 

“I forget how strong you are,” she laughs. 

George just kisses her and carries her back to the house. He hopes she never forgets the way his arms feel wrapped around her, the way his breath feels against her cheek. 

He hopes she never forgets him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC I'm making myself so sad over Martha's death.... this fic wasn't supposed to be THIS DAMN EMO. Like isn't it so painful that George thinks he's going to be the one to die and leave her but hahaha little does he know, she's the one who dies and leaves him. Wow I'm sad :-)
> 
> Hope y'all are enjoying it! The reception has been way better than I thought it would be <3 tbh I thought everyone would just be like 'oh my god stfu and get back to whamilton bitch' (I do miss Alex but I'm enjoying this so fcking much. I love Martha)
> 
> I have rough outlines in my head for 2 more EMO ASS chapters so yay.
> 
> :^) all the comments make me SO happy okay


	6. War! What is it Good For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? (#classic).
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter is sad as fuck. 
> 
> Historical inaccuracy: I know that the Iraq War didn't start until 2003, but I need it to start in 2001 to fit my timeline for George's life, so I'm taking the creative license and moving Operation Iraqi Freedom up a couple of years. I'm sure you can all forgive me (considering the entire premise of Hamilton modern au is an historical inaccuracy lmao)
> 
> Also, I totally know that in an actual situation, George probably wouldn't be discharged so easily, but I do what I want.

2001

“You better come back to me, George Washington.” 

George laughs and manages to shove two more books into his bag: Nietzsche's  _On the Genealogy of Morality_ and his LSAT prep book. Just some light reading for the long, Iraqi nights. 

“ _George_ ,” Martha snaps. “Do I sound like I’m joking?”

George straightens up and turns to where Martha is standing in the doorway of their small bedroom. He sits on the bed and beckons her over. 

“I’m sorry for laughing honey bunch.” 

Martha rolls her eyes but walks over to him and lets him pull her into his lap. He presses his face into her slender neck, breathing in the sweet smell of her perfume and body wash. He wants to memorize it and never forget.

“Please come home to me, George. I need you back here all in one piece, okay?”

“You know I can’t promise you that,” George murmurs. He moves them so that they’re laying down facing each other. “I don’t want to make you a promise that I can’t keep.”

“Just… Don’t try to be a hero, okay? Keep yourself safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“When have I ever done anything stupid?” George teases. Martha sighs and reaches over to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and sighs as Martha gently strokes his skin with the pad of her thumb. 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“You know why,” George says quietly. He opens his eyes and sits up. 

“To validate yourself in your mother’s eyes? To try to fill Lawrence’s shoes? To prove to your dead father that you’re a real man?” Her tone is sharp, and George recoils slightly.

“I was going to say to serve my country, but okay.” George gets up and paces the small room. It only takes about four strides to reach the wall before he has to turn around. 

“This has nothing to do about serving your country, George, and you know it.” Martha stands up too and grabs George’s arm as he passes by, pulling him out of his pacing. She holds him against her chest, cradling his head. “Why can’t you let all of that stuff go, love? I wish you didn’t have to carry around that weight.”

“Lets lay down again,” George says softly. Martha nods and they climb into bed. Her arms wrap around his waist and she holds him tightly. George scoots back against her, wishing he could meld their bodies together so they’d never have to be apart.

“I’m worried about you… What if you get bad again?” she asks. 

“I’ll be fine,” George says stiffly. “It’s not like that anymore.” George starts to pull away, but Martha squeezes him harder. 

“Just stay here for a little bit longer.” 

George nods and rolls over so he’s facing her again. He trails his fingers down her smooth cheek, marveling at how beautiful her glowing, caramel skin is. He rubs his thumb over her lips and she kisses it gently. 

She looks at him, staring straight into his eyes, and a wave of emotion hits him so hard that it leaves him reeling.

His chest is painfully tight and he can barely breathe as he lets out a shaky, gasping sob. Martha immediately pulls him closer and strokes the back of his neck. She makes soft, shushing noises and rubs his back. 

The sobs wrack his entire body, shaking the bed with their force. He sucks in short, gasping breaths that make his chest burn. 

His time is up, he just knows it. He’s going to die. He doesn’t know how; there are too many scenarios to account for. He lies awake at night imagining them: He could die in a ball of flames; he could be mowed down by a spray of bullets; he could be shot point blank, staring into the eyes of an Iraqi soldier no older than himself. 21 years old. Practically a baby. If he closes his eyes, he’s just a little boy again, playing war with Lawrence. Except this time he has a real gun and a target on his back. 

He sucks in a ragged breath and moans.

“Shh, Georgie; you’re okay,” Martha coos in his ear. “You’re okay sweet love. It’s all okay.” He shakes his head and tries to pull away, but Martha holds him steady. “Just let me hold you.”

After a while, his sobs start to taper off and he sits up. Martha gets him a warm washcloth that she uses to wipe his face clean. 

“I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “It just… hit me. I’m going to Iraq and I might die.” He laughs and holds his head in his hands. “I might _die_. I don’t want to die.” 

“Shh, George, calm down.” Martha rubs his back, pushing her hand up under his shirt.

“I feel like you’re supposed to be the one crying.” George sniffs and rubs his eyes. 

“Gender rolls suck,” Martha says, leaning forward to kiss him gently. 

“I really do need to leave,” George whispers against her lips. 

“I know. C’mon, lets call you a taxi.”

They wait outside their apartment for George’s taxi, huddled close together. When the taxi rolls to a stop, George’s stomach churns uneasily. He gives Martha one last kiss. 

“I love you Martha,” he says softly.

“I love you too George.” 

George tastes Martha’s salty tears on his lips, and he reaches up to thumb one away. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

_Liar._

George gets in the taxi and presses his face to the window. He watches Martha until the taxi turns off of their street. 

He has a sinking feeling that this is the last time he’ll ever see her and he wishes that he spent more time memorizing her face, the way she walks, the sound of her voice. 

Leading up to his deployment, they spent all their available time together. Martha got a job as a medical research assistant, but whenever she was off work, they were together. They spent long nights curled up in bed, alternating between cuddling and having long, lazy rounds of sex. On weekends they went out with Adrienne and Lafayette, soaking up as much ‘family time’ as possible. 

But George is scared that it still wasn’t enough. He’s worried that Martha is going to forget him, and then he’ll be dead and she won’t be able to refresh her memory. 

He tries to breathe through the anxiety, ignoring the odd look the cabbie gives him in the rearview mirror. 

George has always had his foot planted on the gas pedal, but now he desperately wants to let up, to stop the frantic pace he’s always lived his life at. He needs to stop, but he’s too far gone. 

He’s always lived life too fast, and now he’s facing the consequences. 

\---

_** To: mdwashington@gmail.com  ** _

_** Subject: Hi  ** _

_ Martha,  _

_ So far the compound isn’t so bad, but it’s a little hard having to share a room with so many guys (8 guys including me in the room atm). But it’s not all bad. I’ve already made a couple friends. There’s James Monroe and Nate Greene. Nate is my age from Rhode Island. And James is only 18 from Virginia(!). James plays guitar sometimes and Nate and I talk politics a lot. He also thinks the war is stupid and is worried abt Islamophobia at home. He gets a lot of shit from the other guys b/c he’s half Muslim (mom grew up in the UAE but moved to the US for college. She met Nate’s dad while working as a translator at the Pentagon.) I worry about him sometimes, especially when he prays.  _

_ My sleep schedule is all out of whack b/c I have a 24 hour shift two out of every four days. I’ve learned to sleep on any flat surface I can. I’m finally a skilled napper!  _

_ I got your care package in the mail the other day and it made me so happy :). Thanks for the toiletries and medicine and the warm socks/hat. It gets so cold at night. I also love the new books (as I always do!).  _

_ I miss you so much and hope that you’re well. How’s your job going? Made any super cool breakthroughs yet?  _

_ I love you to the moon and back,  _

_ George xx  _

\---

** _To: gilbertlafayette@gmail.com_ **

** _Subject: Re: Miss you brother_ **

_Gil,_

_I’m glad your classes are going well! That one professor you told me about sounds like a real, Grade-A asshole. Good luck with that._

_Sorry it’s been so long since my last email. I was on patrol for several days in a row there. Luckily they were all calm. We delivered water to civilians in surrounding villages. This little boy gave me a pack of gum which was adorable and incredibly sweet of him. Crazy how I’ve started to miss things like gum. I never realized how much I took for granted._

_You would love Nate and I hope you can meet him one day. He’s a great guy. I think you would also like James, even though he’s a Republican. He’s become very disillusioned with the war; I think Nate and I have talked some sense into him! Very sweet, young guy. A little reckless, though. I worry about him. (I guess I worry about everyone)._

_Love you brother,_

_George_

_\---_

** _To: mdwashington@gmail.com_ **

** _Subject: Sorry for the wait_ **

_Martha,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t been able to email you in so long. I was very sick and couldn’t get out of bed. I hope you weren’t too worried. (I’m so so sorry love). But don’t worry, I’m on the mend!_

_Because I know you’ll ask, I don’t exactly know what I was sick with. Without getting into too much detail, I had high fever (103.5 at highest), chills, upset stomach/prolonged nausea & vomiting (subsequently got dehydrated), sore throat, and general fatigue. Docs thought it might just be a stomach virus or possibly strep, but then developed very dry cough and experienced difficulty breathing. _

_I’m feeling much better, but do still feel very tired and nauseous. I’m back out on patrols, but they’re incredibly tiring. I spend most of my free time sleeping._

_I lost a good bit of weight and can’t wait until I can put some of it back on. Before I got sick, I usually spent my breaks in the gym. You thought I was strong before? Just get ready!!_

_As always, I love you more than anything (even strawberry ice cream!!),_

_George xx_

_P.S. I would appreciate it if you could send me some Pedialyte and applesauce. The food served is usually not gentle enough for me to stomach right now, and I really need to get my weight back up._

\---

** _To: mdwashington@gmail.com_ **

** _Subject: Sorry_ **

_Martha,_

_I don’t want to scare you but I’m not doing very well right now. I killed two people yesterday and three today. I’m starting to realize that I’m not cut out for this. Other guys can just shoot and not care. It literally made me sick._

_All I want is to come home to you._

_I love you so, so, so much,_

_George xx_

\---

Everything is too loud and too bright, and George is so doped up on drugs that he can barely see straight, but he needs to call Martha, needs to let her know that this might be the end. There was so much blood. George doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget how hot it felt on his skin or the nauseating, metallic smell. The way it tasted on his lips. The way it squished in between his fingers as he tried to hold James Monroe’s body together. 

The surgeon told George that he was going to be fine, but George doesn’t know if he believes him, because George rescued James Monroe and then he died in his arms. So what’s the god damn point and who is this man to tell him anything about life and death?

The phone rings and rings and George is worried that Martha’s not going to pick up, but then he hears her voice and almost bursts into tears, except he’s a soldier and soldiers aren’t supposed to cry. 

“Hello?” she sounds confused and George can hear talking in the background. She must be at work. He takes a shuddering breath and sniffs. 

“Martha, it’s George,” he says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he knows he must sound drunk. 

“George,” Martha says slowly, the hint of fear in her voice. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”

“I got shot. I’m in a military hospital but they’re transferring me home soon.” George’s lip trembles when he hears Martha suck in a deep breath. 

“Oh my God. George what happened? I told you not to do anything stupid!” She sucks in another breath and George hates himself because she’s crying and he can’t do anything about it. 

“I didn’t listen to you,” George says, his voice breaking. “I tried to save my friend and then a sniper shot me. It hurt so bad Martha. I’ve never been in so much pain in my life. Felt like I was on fire,” George babbles, needing to tell someone because he’s had it bottled up inside of him for too long and it’s burning him from the inside out.

“Why?” Martha sobs. “Why couldn’t you just stay out of trouble?!” She’s shouting at him now and George whimpers because Martha never shouts and George can never do anything right. 

“I couldn’t leave him behind,” George whispers. “He was just a kid. 18 years old. I couldn’t leave him to die.” George hiccups and tries to stifle a sob, well aware of the fact that only a thin curtain separates him from everyone else. 

“Oh George,” Martha sighs. 

“I’m sorry, Martha. I’m so sorry.”

“That James Monroe better be thankful,” she mutters and George whimpers again as he remembers James’ body covered in sticky blood, remembers the wet, gurgling sounds he made as he coughed it up, spitting it up all over George’s neck as George carried him.

“He died,” George whispers, his throat painfully tight. “I was holding him and he died.”

Martha takes a sharp breath but doesn’t say anything. 

What could she say? George feels empty and sick and he doesn’t know if there’s any combination of words that could ever make this okay. 

“There was so much blood.” George’s breath hitches and he takes a deep breath. “I need you, Martha. I’m so scared. It hurts so bad and the medicine makes everything so fuzzy and confusing. Please make it stop.” 

Martha sobs and sniffs. “I would if I could, sweet love. You know I would.” 

“It hurts so fucking much.” 

“I’m so sorry, bud,” Martha whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to be okay. I’ll be home soon.” 

_Nothing is okay and I can’t do this anymore._

\---

Martha, Lafayette, and Adrienne throw him a small party when he comes home after being honorably discharged and given a bunch of honors and medals that he doesn’t want. He’s not a hero and he tries to tell people that, but no one wants to hear it. People like a hero and oh is his story a good one. 

Augustine Washington’s son goes off to war and gets injured trying to save a fellow soldier who tragically dies in his arms.

It doesn’t get much better than that, does it? 

Martha meets him at the airport and even though his chest feels painfully empty as if someone went in and scooped everything out of him, seeing Martha makes him so happy that he thinks he might pass out. 

He hugs her as tightly as he can and starts to cry and laugh all at the same time. 

“I love you so much. God I love you _so much_ ,” he tells her over and over again. She just hugs him tighter and kisses him until they can’t breathe.

Then he finally gets to go home and Lafayette and Adrienne are waiting for him. He clings to Lafayette like a lifeline.

But the party is subdued and a little awkward. Everyone is looking at him expectantly but he doesn’t know what they want him to say. He feels them watching him as he halfheartedly picks at the carrot cake they get for him and when he wraps his arm around himself to hold his hand over his aching wound. 

After Lafayette and Adrienne leave, Martha and he crawl into bed together, and George shivers when Martha strokes the jagged, angry scar on his side. 

“I’m scared, George,” she says so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her. He kisses her and sighs. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You seem so sad and I don’t know what to do.”

George winces and blinks back tears. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m not upset with you. I’m just scared that you’re getting bad again.”

“I am too,” George whispers. 

They go to sleep and George wakes up in the middle of the night with a scream dying on his lips and James Monroe’s young, handsome face streaked with blood burning in his mind. 

Martha tries to soothe him, carefully holding him and rubbing his back. 

Eventually she goes back to sleep and George gets up because how is he supposed to sleep when he knows that dead men are waiting to dance on the backs of his eyelids? 

He tries to focus on his LSAT prep book but the words keep swimming in front of him as his eyes glaze over, so he finally just flips on the news and watches coverage of the war that robbed him of a year of his life. 

Martha gets up around nine and gives him a long, worried look before cooking him an omelet that he doesn’t finish. 

Then they go back to bed and burrow down under the blankets where George is safe and nothing can get him. Martha holds him and talks to him about anything and everything, desperately trying to keep his mind off of the scar on his side and the dead boy now buried seven feet underground.

George didn’t die in the war, but as he lays there in Martha’s arms feeling tired and listless and numb, it sure feels like he did. George came back from the war but the Iraqi desert took something from him that he’ll never be able to get back. 

*******

The first thing Lafayette notices when George comes back from the war is that he doesn’t look that young anymore. Where he used to be all lean muscle and long, almost gangly limbs, he’s now bulked up, his arms and legs thicker and more muscular. 

The second thing Lafayette notices is that George is exponentially quieter. He’s always been quiet and a little aloof, but now he seems to always be off in his own head, distracted by his thoughts. He’ll go all night without saying a word to anyone. It gives them all the weird sense that George isn’t really _there_ with them. He’s stuck back in Iraq, watching a boy die in his arms.

The third thing Lafayette notices is that George is _sad_. He smiles and he laughs but his eyes don’t sparkle, and he looks weary and beaten down. Except when he’s with Martha. She’s always brought out the best in him, and sometimes it seems like she’s the only one who can cheer him up when he’s feeling down. 

Lafayette worries about George constantly. Even when things seem to get a little better and George starts law school at UVA, Lafayette still worries. 

He worries because Martha tells him about how George still wakes up screaming most nights. 

One night she calls him in tears, so upset that he can barely understand her.

“George had a horrible nightmare and wet the bed. He’s so upset, Laf, and I don’t know what to do. Our bed is soaked in piss and I’m just sitting here on the ground crying because George isn’t okay and I don’t know how to help him. He _peed_ _in the fucking bed_ , Laf. And now he’s mortified and upset and I don’t think I can do this.”

“It’s okay, Martha. I’ll come over and help. It’s all going to be okay.”

When he gets to their apartment, George is curled up on the couch staring at the wall, his face shiny with tears, and Martha is sitting on the floor in the bedroom sobbing. Lafayette immediately strips the bed and gets everything into the washing machine. Martha and he make the bed back up and he sits there with her so she can get herself back together. 

Lafayette worries because George starts to hurt himself again, and Martha tells Lafayette that she’s afraid George might try to kill himself. He goes over to their apartment and helps her get rid of everything sharp while George naps one day.

And when George breaks down one night and tells Martha that he wishes he was dead, they promptly stage an intervention and take George to see a psychiatrist. 

Martha holds his hand and Lafayette squeezes his shoulder as the doctor rattles off a diagnosis: _PTSD, generalized anxiety, depression._

Martha takes George home and Lafayette fills his medicine at the pharmacy because he doesn’t know if Martha can handle doing anything else today. She always looks so tired now.

One night, Lafayette is sitting outside the apartment with Martha and he asks her if she regrets marrying George. 

“Never,” she says firmly. “I’m in this for the long-haul and I know we’re going to get through this. He’s the light of my life, and I just want to help him feel better.”

Lafayette watches her as she goes back inside and cradles George against her chest, tickling his side so that he’ll smile.

She always makes him smile. 

And when things start to get good again and George’s smiles come a little easier, Martha is still the only one who can bring out the absolute best in him. 

When George is around Martha, he’s the man he’s supposed to be—the man he was _meant_ to be—before his father beat him and his brother died and his mother disowned him, before he watched a boy die in his arms under a sweltering Iraqi sun. 

Martha Washington was the missing piece in George’s puzzle. 

Lafayette doesn’t know what George would do without her. 

He hopes he never has to find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. 
> 
> This chapter was so fun to write... Why do I love to torture the things I love? We may never know. 
> 
> Nate Greene is obviously Nathanael Greene. Headcannon that he's half Muslim and practices Islam because why the fuck not. 
> 
> I have one more chapter planned for this and oh damn is it going to be SAD AS FUCK. 
> 
> All the positive feedback on this fic has made me so incredibly happy. Thank you :')


	7. Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this chapter is like seriously intensely sad imo. I literally cried while writing it and that never happens SO be forewarned. 
> 
> Two quick warnings: 
> 
> 1\. LOTS of talk of death (it's the entire premise of this chap) so if that's a trigger for you, proceed with caution. 
> 
> 2\. At one point the f-slur is used. 
> 
> I'M SO SORRY.

2010

George is at work hunched over a bill he has to decide if he wants to sign when his personal cellphone buzzes with a text. He grabs it and groans when he sees it, wishing he could throw the phone against the wall. 

It’s only two words, but it’s enough to leave him breathless and sick with worry. 

_Headache day._

It feels like half of Martha’s texts to him say this now. 

Lately every day is a headache day. 

His hands shake as he types out a response. _I’m sorry love. I’ll come home early tonight. Love you._

Martha doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t expect her too. 

George startles when there’s a knock at the door and he has to take several deep breaths before he can call out ‘come in.’

Lafayette strolls in and immediately frowns. “George, what’s wrong?” He’s always been able to read George like a book. 

“Martha has a headache,” George says miserably. Lafayette’s face darkens and he sits down heavily on the couch. 

“She needs to see a doctor, George.”

“I know.” George’s stomach roils and he takes another steadying breath. “I’m scared, Gil.”

“It’ll be okay, George. If you want, Adrienne and I can go with you. We’ll get my parents to watch Geo.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.”

It’s a lie, but Lafayette doesn’t call him out on it. He just goes back to his own office, giving George one last lingering look before he disappears through the door. 

George hates ‘headache days’ because it means going home to a dark house with Martha locked away in their bedroom, and all George wants to do is hold her and make it better, but it hurts her to be touched. It makes George feel horrible and useless, so he just slinks off and sits in the living room, trying to keep his anxiety in check. The last thing Martha needs is his him getting all anxious and weepy. 

His stomach is tied up in knots the rest of the day which only makes him irritable and short tempered. Getting older sucks, and he’s recently noticed that his stomach problems are only getting worse. 

He just turned 30 years old and he hates it. Hates it because some nights he still wakes up gasping and sobbing from a bad dream and Martha has to comfort him like he’s 18 years old again. Loathes this new decade in his life because he feels like he should’ve grown out of his stupid mental problems by now. Despises the age of 30 because he thinks Martha may be sick and George doesn’t know what he’s going to do if she is. 

He can’t lose her. 

But he lies awake at night and stares at the ceiling thinking about what might be wrong with her. Wonders how much time they have left together. 

George always thought he was the one living on borrowed time. Maybe it was Martha all along. 

The thought makes George feel sick and he has to go lie down on the couch. He’s already lost so much. He doesn’t think he can survive losing Martha. 

Lafayette comes in again and finds him lying on the couch and sits with him, lifts George’s head to rest on his thigh. His long fingers comb through George’s hair, massaging his scalp. George lets his eyes droop closed. 

“I’m scared that Martha’s dying,” George finally says, his voice shockingly loud in the otherwise silent office. 

“I know,” Lafayette whispers. 

“I’m so fucking scared.” 

“Do you want me to make the appointment for you?” Lafayette cups George’s face and he nods, shame burning his cheeks. 

“I don’t think I can do it,” George says honestly.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it scheduled.” 

They fall into a heavy silence and George heaves a sighing breath. “Can you hold me?” 

It happens less and less. Now that they’re grown men with wives, now that Lafayette has a son. It feels obscene and wrong. Dirty. But George has always been captive to his emotions—weak in the face of adversity. Maybe it’s because he grew up under the shadow of Death and no one taught him how to deal with it. Maybe it’s because his mother always told him that he was cowardly and inadequate and didn’t have what it took to amount to anything.

So when everything gets to be too much, George will turn to Lafayette, chasing the feeling of his arms strong around him that cold, October night back in 1998. He can breathe in Lafayette’s sharp, spicy cologne and squeeze his eyes shut until he’s 18 again with a whole life in front of him. 

Lafayette soundlessly climbs behind George, smushing himself onto the couch and wrapping his strong, muscular arms around George’s waist. His mane of tight, coiled curls tickles George’s cheek and his beard scratches George’s neck as he nuzzles it. 

“You good?” Lafayette asks softly. 

“Yeah,” George breathes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, brother. I’m here for you.”

\---

George gets home, opening and closing the door to their townhouse softly. Like usual, all the lights are off. He toes his shoes off and tiptoes into the kitchen where he sets the take-out he picked up down on the counter. 

He’s not hungry, but Lafayette insisted that George pick up dinner, went with him to make sure he actually got it. 

So George robotically pulls it out and stares at the cheese ravioli drowning in Alfredo sauce, usually one of his favorite dishes. Tonight it makes his stomach turn and he has to take it out to the dumpster so he won’t smell it in the kitchen. 

He wearily undoes his tie and slinks into the bedroom, feeling along the wall to reach his closet until his eyes adjust to the unsettlingly black darkness. Martha is buried under a mound of blankets and she doesn’t even move when George opens and closes his closet door, stripping out of his suit. 

“Hey Martha?” he whispers as he slowly approaches the bed, subconsciously holding his breath. She stirs and groans, and George lets out the breath in a dizzying whoosh. He’s always scared that he’s going to come home and find her dead. Once again, Death is towering over him, glowering down with a wicked grin as George cowers like hunted prey. He kneels down by the edge of the bed and carefully pushes a strand of her hair out of her face. “Honey bunch? It’s George. Do you need anything?”

She cracks her eyes open and smiles when she sees him. “Hi Georgie,” she says softly, her voice rough from lack of use. George tries to smile for her, tries to stay strong as he takes in her ashen, gaunt face. 

“Hey. I missed you so much today.” His shaky voice is thin and reedy, and he hates himself because he can never be strong for her. She needs him to be strong but he’s a wreck like always. Her brow creases in concern and she reaches out to take his hand. 

“What’s wrong love?”

“Shh don’t worry about me. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Maybe some water or something to eat?”

“Water would be nice.” 

He squeezes her hand and gets her the water. When he gets back to the bedroom, she’s sitting up with the lamp on, which eases some of the anxious pressure in his chest. 

She greedily drinks the water as George climbs into bed next to her, tentatively reaching out to take her hand again. 

“I’m glad you seem to be feeling better,” George murmurs. She squeezes his hand and catches his lips in a slow, languid kiss. He melts under her touch, his breaths coming out short and shaky as she climbs onto his lap. “Martha,” he says, his voice raspy. “You’re sick.”

“I’m feeling better,” she purrs. “And I haven’t properly loved you in days, Georgie.” She trails her hands down his chest and he lets out a high, needy whine when she grinds down on his hard cock. 

“Martha,” he breathes as she slides off of him and tells him to lie down. She rubs her thumb over the wet spot on the front of his pajama pants, leaning over to mouth along the bulge tenting the thin material. 

Soon his pants are gone, pushed down to his ankles where he quickly kicks them off, shivering in the cool air.

When she finally takes him into her mouth, his hips stutter up and she pulls off, clucking her tongue. 

“No Georgie,” she tells him, her voice dark. 

“So bossy,” George pants out as she swallows him down as far as she can, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She doesn’t even blink, just jacks the part of his cock she can’t fit and works him with her tongue. 

She pulls her mouth off and George whimpers as the cold air hits the tip of his wet cock. She smirks at him and takes one of his balls in her mouth, and George lets out a choked sob. “Martha please, don’t,” he begs. “I can’t hold off much longer.”

“That’s okay baby. I want to see you come. Just let me take care of you tonight.” She licks a stripe up his shaft with the flat of her tongue, following the long vein on the underside of his cock up to the tip. She laps at the precum pearling there before sinking back down on him. 

It takes all of his willpower and restraint not to thrust up into her mouth. He desperately wants to, but Martha made it clear that she was doing the work tonight, so he just lays there with his fists twisted in the sheets and his eyes screwed shut.

She pulls off again and nose the sensitive skin where his balls meet his cock and a moan reverberates low in his throat. “Open your eyes, Georgie,” she says, her voice commanding and a little teasing. “I want to see the look in your eyes when you come for me.” 

He forces his eyes open as she ghosts hot air over the tip of his cock. She takes him back into her mouth and bobs her head. He starts to chant out a litany of words, praising Martha and swearing to a God he doesn’t believe in, worshipping her at the altar as his orgasm pools painfully hot low in his belly. He squirms and curls his toes, thrashing his head from side to side. “Martha,” he warns, and she pulls up—she doesn’t like to swallow—and carefully strokes him as his cock pulses and his cum splatters on his stomach, his shirt long since rucked up underneath him from his movements. 

His cock jerks four more times and then he relaxes his clenched muscles, letting himself sink into the mattress as Martha gets a warm washcloth and cleans him up. 

She climbs back into bed and pulls the blanket up over them. He whimpers when the heavy material drags across his slightly overstimulated cock. Martha lays down on his chest and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Can I return the favor?” he asks her softly, letting his hands trail down to tease the waistband of her pants, but she shakes her head and kisses his chest. 

“I’m on my period, remember? No more birth control.” 

George’s chest tightens and he grins. “Right. I almost forgot.” 

They’d recently started trying to have a baby and were so giddy about it that they’d already decided on names. 

Gilbert Lawrence for a boy, obviously after Lafayette and George’s brother.

Marie Frances for a girl, after Adrienne—Marie is her first name—and Frances, Martha’s mother.

It makes George jealous that Martha loves her mother enough to name their child after her, but he would never tell her that. 

“I’m glad your headache is better,” George says softly. “I was so worried about you all day.”

“Today’s wasn’t so bad. I’m just tired now.”

George swallows and squeezes her in a hug. “Do you feel sick? Because you should try to eat something, but I won’t make you if you don’t feel well,” George says, a little flustered. He always gets flustered when he takes care of her, doesn’t want to do anything that would make her feel worse. 

“No I feel alright. I could eat something.”

George lets out a sigh of relief. The worst ‘headache days’ are the ones where Martha is so sick to her stomach that she can’t keep anything down, and George can only sit there with her and try to soothe her, feeling completely and utterly useless. 

They go into the kitchen together and George makes Martha a cheese omelet, lies to her that he already ate and ignores her accusatory glare that lets him know that she sees right through him. He’s eternally grateful when she doesn’t push him on it. 

He nervously flits around the kitchen, stress cleaning to take his mind off of the conversation he needs to have with her. 

When he realizes that he can’t get a stain off the counter no matter how hard he scrubs, he lets out a particularly distressed groan, and Martha comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulders.

“You’re upset about something.” It isn’t a question; it’s a statement. He nods and hangs his head, letting Martha pry the rag out of his clenched fingers, watches as she puts the cleaner back under the sink and tosses the rag into the laundry room. She gives him a long look and motions him over to the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.” He groans in frustration and grinds his palms into his eyes, relishing the explosions of light that dance across the backs of his eyelids. 

“Hey, Georgie,” Martha says gently. “Look at me.” She reaches over and tips his chin up and George struggles to meet her eyes. She smiles fondly and strokes his cheek. “You’re amazing at taking care of me, okay? You take such good care of me. You always have.”

George starts to protest, but she puts her finger on his lips. “And it’s okay that you’re upset. Just because I’m not feeling well doesn’t mean that you need to bottle everything up inside and try to deal with it alone. I’ll always be here for you.”

As soon as the words—the _lie_ —leaves her lips, George doubles over like he’s been punched and takes a sharp breath. 

“Don’t say that,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“What? George, what’s wrong?”

“I think something’s wrong with you,” he finally says, spitting it out and screwing his eyes shut. “We need to see a doctor, Martha. I think you’re really sick, and I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine because it’s _not_.” 

Martha pulls away from him and he opens his eyes to look at her, his heart wrenching when he sees the fear in her eyes. 

“They’re just headaches,” she whispers as if she’s trying to reassure herself that it’s true. George just shakes his head.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” he says firmly, straightening his back. His father’s voice is sharp and mocking in his mind.

_What did I fucking tell you, George? Project confidence or you’ll never get anywhere in this world. Straighten your back and hold your head up. I can’t have my son getting pushed around like some little faggot._

George has always found it disgustingly humorous how all of his father’s best advice was shrouded in insults. 

Martha slumps her shoulders as a pair of tears race themselves down her cheeks. George immediately pulls her against him and tries to wipe them away, shushes her and whispers sweet words in her ear as she cries. 

Somewhere above them Death is laughing as he tugs on Fate’s strings. 

\---

In the end, Lafayette and Adrienne do end up coming to the appointment with them. George calls Lafayette the night before the appointment from his place locked away in the attic with a bottle of scotch. 

“I can’t do it alone,” he slurs. “I’m not strong enough, Gil. I can’t fucking do it.” 

Lafayette just talks George through one of his old therapist’s stupid breathing exercises and gently asks him to put the alcohol away. 

George wakes up the morning of the appointment hungover with a pounding headache. The irony isn’t lost on him. 

Martha and he shower together, but they’re mostly quiet, both lost in their thoughts. Luckily, today isn’t a ‘headache day.’

_Not for Martha at least_ , George thinks ruefully as he dumps three Advil into his mouth. 

George’s driver takes them to the hospital. He hates having a driver, but apparently it’s too dangerous for governors to drive their own damn cars. 

They’re quietly ushered into a private waiting room where they meet up with Lafayette and Adrienne. Adrienne sits with Martha and talks to her about the renovations Lafayette and she are making to their house, trying to ease her mind off of her appointment. 

George is too keyed up to sit still, so he stands up and paces nervously. Lafayette paces right beside him, meeting him stride for stride. 

When the doctor calls Martha’s name, George’s stomach drops and he kisses her before she trails after the doctor. He can feel tears pushing at the backs of his eyes, but he shakes his head and takes a deep breath. 

He needs to be strong for her. He’s going to be strong for her. 

\---

George keeps staring at the clock willing it to move, but it feels like minutes are as long as hours and hours as long as days because time crawls by so slowly it may as well not be changing. 

Lafayette and Adrienne try to keep George’s mind off of Martha and all the tests she’s having to go through, but it’s all he can think about as he anxiously paces back and forth.

The waiting room is relatively spacious with plenty of room in between the uncomfortable vinyl chairs, but George feels painfully claustrophobic. There are two windows, a sad attempt to brighten up the dreary room. The walls are painted a sickening medium sea-green that match the darker sea-green chairs. The tile floor is a checkerboard of urine yellow and the same stupid sea-green, only lighter and closer to mint. 

It’s disgusting, and the cheap landscape paintings on the wall make George’s stomach burn with anger for no apparent reason. 

He decides that he hates this room and hates this hospital. 

He just hates _this_. The waiting, the not knowing, the utter lack of control. 

At some point, Lafayette takes George outside to get some fresh air, and it makes him feel a little better, a little less nauseous. 

But then they go back inside the sea-green hell and George grits his teeth and clenches his fists. He’s always had a nasty temper, a dangerous rage that boils just below the surface. And damn does he want to hit something. 

As he paces he imagines how good it would feel to slam his fists into something, to scream and punch and kick something— _someone_ —until his knuckles are busted and bleeding and he can’t breathe. 

But instead he sits down in one of the sea-green chairs and lays his head on Lafayette’s shoulder. If Lafayette notices how badly George is shaking, he doesn’t say anything. 

\---

After what feels like a lifetime, the doctor walks out. His face is carefully blasé but his eyes are full of pity. 

George looks into the man’s eyes and feels something in the air shift. He can practically picture the ominous thunderstorms building on the horizon of his life. 

He can hear Death cackling. 

The doctor leads them to a conference room where Martha is already sitting, halfheartedly chatting with two other doctors in the room. George immediately sits beside Martha and takes her hand, squeezing it so hard that she gasps in pain and tells him to loosen up. 

He tries to smile sheepishly and joke with her, but it just falls flat and they settle on staring forlornly into each other’s eyes. 

‘I’m sorry,’ her eyes seem to say. 

The doctors introduce themselves but George forgets their names as soon as they say them. George watches the doctors share long, grim looks before opening up folders filled with detailed x-rays and test results. 

George is hit with a flash of heat and grits his teeth. He _will not_ have an anxiety attack right now. He needs to be strong for once in his god damn life. 

But then the doctor’s mouths start moving and George hears fragments of sentences, a few sharp words that suck the air out of the room and leave him feeling dizzy. 

_“Brain tumor.”_

_“Most likely inoperable.”_

_“6 or 7 months at most.”_

_“Cancer center at Howard University.”_

_“Chemo if you want.”_

_“Could try to operate.”_

Martha turns and buries her face in his shoulder and he scoots his chair over so he can be closer to her. He cradles her against his chest and swallows down the sob building in his throat, bites his lip so hard that it bleeds. 

George can’t speak, can’t open his mouth because he’s afraid of what might come out; his stomach is churning and his throat is tight. He doesn’t want to cry in front of these people and he definitely doesn’t want to throw up. 

Lafayette takes one look at George and must sense that he’s drowning because he listens attentively to the doctors and politely takes all of the paperwork they give him, types a few notes out on his phone. 

Then he helps George out to the car, slipping an arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall. Adrienne goes home to take care of Geo, but Lafayette insists on coming over to help George and Martha tonight. 

George doesn’t have it in himself to argue. 

\---

As soon as they get home, Martha kisses George’s cheek and tells him that she’s going to shower. Her face is splotchy with tears and George hates himself because he knows that this is Martha’s way of taking care of him, giving him time to himself. 

So Martha showers and George slinks off to the spare bedroom-turned-office, and Lafayette dutifully follows him. 

He sits with George on the small couch along the wall and wraps his arms around him as he breaks down. George presses his face into Lafayette’s shoulder as he wails and sobs and screams, not giving a single shit if his neighbors can hear him. He distantly worries about Martha hearing him, but Lafayette shushes him and tells him that she’ll understand. That it’s okay. That he’s been so brave. 

He croons and praises George like a child—he’s _always_ felt like a stupid, helpless child—and George hates himself for needing it, for craving it. 

Lafayette holds the trashcan under his chin as George desperately dry heaves, but there’s nothing in him to bring up. He coughs and retches until his throat is raw and burning, and Lafayette sits with him the whole time. 

When he finally calms down enough to leave the room, Lafayette helps him walk as his legs quake and threaten to give out underneath him. 

He directs George to the bathroom so he can shower and goes to check on Martha, and George burns with shame because he should be the one helping her, but he’s not strong enough, not man enough to help her. 

George always knew that his mother was right about him. 

\---

And thus begins his new normal. The constant trips to D.C. so Martha can go to the cancer center at Howard for her chemo. 

The constant heckling by the press. When they first caught sight of him going to and from the cancer center, his staff had to clamp down on the rumors that he was the sick one, the one dying. He had to hold a press conference where he announced to the world that his wife was dying. Wasting away right in front of him. 

He throws himself into his work because he needs something other than cancer and chemo and surgeries to think about. He starts to work out of his home office so he can stay with Martha. He’s terrified to let her out of his sight. 

Where he used to have war dreams, now he has dreams of coming home to Martha’s cold, dead body waiting for him in their bed. He wakes up hyperventilating with tears on his cheeks and Martha always takes the time to hold him and soothe him until he falls back to sleep. Even when she’s sick and her whole body hurts, she molds herself to his back and holds him until the shaking subsides and he can breathe again. 

George becomes painfully well acquainted with the nurses that run Martha’s chemo treatments, eventually coming to enjoy their company as he sits there with Martha and works. They’re always full of questions, quizzing him on whatever legislation he’s going over, asking him to give them a shoutout once he’s president. He laughs and tells them that he’s not cut out to be president and is perfectly happy running the state of Virginia thank you very much. 

He quickly falls into the pattern of good and bad days, relishing the good days and hating the bad days. 

On bad days he spends all day trying to make Martha comfortable as the chemo ravages her body, leaving her sick and in pain. He does his best to comfort her but is again struck with just how utterly powerless he is. 

He can’t make it stop, can’t take away her pain, so he just sits with her as she gets sick in the bathroom, cleans up her messes when she doesn’t make it in time, rubs her shoulders and feet and draws her warm baths that they share together. 

But on good days they go to the park or stay in and watch Netflix all day, burrowed under the blankets naked so that nothing separates them from each other. Some good days, they’ll have slow, gentle rounds of sex. George has to do most of the work but he doesn’t mind one bit. 

Sometimes her appetite will come back for a day or two and they’ll cook together, putting on all their favorite songs and dancing to them, swaying in each other’s arms. 

But as time marches on, there are less and less good days and George starts to lose hope. A weight settles in his chest; it’s always present, heavy and oppressive as it crushes his ribs and smothers his heart. 

One night George is laying in bed with Martha, watching her sleep as he runs his fingers through her hair. He has to leave after a clump of her hair falls out, tangling in his fingers. He locks himself in his office and cries so hard that he almost passes out from lack of air. 

He helps her shave her head, assures her that the buzzed look is hot, and lets her shave his head so they’ll match, as cliché as it may be. She laughs when George gets hard just looking at her. He quips that he wasn’t lying when he said it was a good look on her. 

But after that, there’s less and less laughter in the house. He knows that Martha is getting depressed, that she hates the constant surgeries to try and get the tumor out, each one ending with the different surgeons telling them that they couldn’t get it all. He knows that she hates the chemo, sees that it only discourages her and solidifies the futility of her situation. 

Despite that, George begs her not to stop the treatments, doesn’t want to accept defeat. If they stop the chemo, they’ll be resigning her to death. Stopping the chemo means that it’s over. They ask the doctor about it and he gives her 2 months without the chemo. 

It ends up being the biggest argument they’ve ever had. 

They biggest argument they’ll ever have. 

The _last_ argument they’ll ever have. 

“I’m not doing the chemo anymore, George,” she tells him that night, and anger burns inside him. Why is she giving up on herself? On him.

“You can’t stop,” he snaps. “I mean, why the fuck would you just accept defeat. You’ll _die_ without it, Martha.”

“George, I’m going to die regardless,” she shouts at him, shoving his chest. He stumbles back in surprise and clenches his fists. 

“I can’t believe you’re just giving up! What happened to you?” he snarls. “The Martha I know would never give up.”

“I got cancer, George. That’s what happened!” She shoves him again and he glares at her, his nostrils flaring. 

“I won’t let you give up on yourself. On _us._ ”

“Well I’m sorry but you don’t get a choice. When you’re the one dying, you can make the decision, but _I’m_ the one dying and I won’t let you tell me what I can and can’t do with my body and my health.”

“I’m your husband, Martha,” George explodes, throwing his hands up. “You don’t get to make these kinds of decisions alone!” 

“Get over yourself for once in your god damn life. You’re not in charge of me, my body, or my livelihood. I’m dying, George! When the fuck are you going to accept that?” Martha shoves him again and his back hits the wall. He grinds his teeth and slams his fist into the wall, not even flinching when he feels his hand bust through and splinter the wood. 

“Don’t speak to me that way. I’m sorry for wanting to do whatever I can to keep you alive. For not giving up on you. I thought you were stronger than this,” George snaps, spittle flying out of his mouth.

When Martha slaps him, the sharp sound of skin on skin reverberates loudly in the room, leaving both of them stunned. George’s head knocks against the wall and he blinks, hand reaching up to cradle his smarting cheek. Memories of his mother looming above him flash in his mind. 

“George,” Martha whispers, her eyes wide. He shakes his head tersely and straightens up. 

“I need some time to cool off before we talk about this anymore.” His voice is cold and steady. Anger always does that to him—steadies him. 

He goes to his office and locks the door behind him. There’s a twinge in his chest when he hears Martha start to cry. 

His cheek is still stinging and he gingerly touches it with the pads of his fingers, exploring the irritated skin. He shudders as he remembers the feeling of his mother’s hand connecting with his tear soaked cheek. Remembers the solid sound of his father’s fist connecting with his jaw. 

He knows he’s being selfish, knows that Martha is right. This isn’t his decision to make.

She doesn’t want to be in pain anymore. He can’t deny her that. Won’t deny her that. No matter how badly it hurts, he’ll finally acquiesce and give up the control he’s been desperately clinging to with the tips of his fingers—forever stuck in a tug-of-war with Death. 

He gives himself a few more minutes before he stands up and takes a deep breath. He’s surprised that he’s not crying and he numbly wonders if it’s because he doesn’t have any tears left to cry. 

Martha is curled up on the couch when he goes back into the living room and she immediately jerks her head up to look at him, guilt and pain apparent in her eyes. He sits down beside her and pulls her into a hug. 

“I’m sorry, honey bunch,” he whispers. “You’re right. This isn’t my decision to make, and even though it’s going to hurt me, I’ll support you one hundred percent. You know that I’ll always be on your side. I was just being stupid and controlling and—”

“Shh,” Martha shushes him as she tenderly reaches up to touch his cheek, which makes him grimace. She immediately recoils and whimpers. “I’m so sorry that I hit you, George. That was—” She takes a wet, sniffling breath and wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. “That was awful and you have a history of abuse and I’m just so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Did you, are you—”

“No flashbacks or anxiety attack. I promise.”

She nods and kisses the spot where his neck slopes into his shoulder. 

“I love you, Georgie.”

“I love you too, Martha. To the moon and back.”

\---

They meet with the doctors and tell them that Martha is finished. No more chemo, or surgeries, or doctors. 

She looks them right in the eyes and tells them that she wants to die at home. 

George has to excuse himself so he can hide in the bathroom and cry. 

Martha finds him and pulls him into a hug, slowly rocking him back and forth. “Don’t be scared, sweet love. It’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t have the words to express to her how utterly not okay it will be. He opens and closes his mouth, but the words ‘I can’t live without you’ keep getting stuck in his throat. 

\---

They go on a two week trip to New York so she can spend time in the place she grew up before she dies. Now that the chemo is over, she seems so much happier. Now that she’s come to terms with her death. 

George is an absolute mess, but he tries his best to keep it together, tells Martha not to worry about him. 

They take long walks in Central Park, share massive New York pizzas and messy ice cream cones, and see a whole slew of Broadway shows. 

One day, Martha drags him to 5th Avenue and shops for a dress to be buried in. George follows after her in an anxious daze, trying his best to cover up the fact that he’s falling apart. That he doesn’t think he can do this.

On their first weekend in the city, they go to Coney Island and Martha begs him to ride the Cyclone with her. He begrudgingly lets her talk him into it because she’s dying and most days it feels like he’s dying right along with her. After they get off the ride, George spends the next 20 minutes getting miserably sick in the bathroom, hoping to god that no one recognizes him and is mean enough to tell the press that they heard Governor George Washington vomiting in the bathroom at Coney Island. Martha stands outside and laughs the entire time. 

That night they decide to stay in because George is still feeling a little sick and Martha is tired. They order room service that neither of them really eat and cuddle in the massive bed, staring out the floor to ceiling windows that overlook Central Park. George figured that they might as well go out with a bang and booked them the Premier Central Park View Suite at the Mandarin.

George is starting to doze off when Martha cups his cheek and kisses his jaw. “I have something for you,” she whispers. He blinks himself awake and sits up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, a little confused. She gets out of bed and he admires how beautiful she looks. The cancer did a number on her, making her more bony than she was before, but she’s still beautiful. She’ll always be beautiful to him. Her caramel skin seems to glow in the low light of the room and it takes George’s breath away. 

She climbs back in bed and straddles his hips. He smirks and kisses her slowly, his tongue easily slipping into her mouth. 

“Are you my present?” he asks, his voice low and husky. She swats at his chest and rubs their noses together. 

“Governor Washington,” she chides. “Show some patience.”

_You’re dying. There’s no time for patience_. 

She holds out a small, black box and presses it into his hand. He frowns and furrows his eyebrows. 

She smiles and kisses him chastely. “I got it while we were shopping. You were off sulking.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but she just cups his cheek and smiles. “I’m joking with you, sweet love. Open your present.”

George swallows and pops the small box open, revealing a simple, silver chain. He pulls it out and lets it run through his fingers. 

“I don’t understand. What is it?”

Martha kisses him again and takes it from him, deftly undoing the clasp. “Hold it open,” she says as she hands it back to him. He does as he’s told and watches as she pulls her wedding ring off her finger. 

“What—”

“Shh, Georgie,” she whispers. “Move your fingers for a second.” 

George watches as she drops her wedding ring onto the chain and his vision blurs with tears. 

“Martha,” he chokes as she leans forward and clasps the necklace around his neck. 

“This way I’ll always be right here by your heart she says, pressing the ring into his chest.” 

He makes love to her then, sobbing into her shoulder as he comes buried deep inside her. When he pulls out, she cradles him against her chest and rocks him back and forth. 

“Don’t be afraid, Georgie,” she whispers. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He wants to scream at her that nothing is ever going to be okay again. Instead he finally manages to choke out the words that have been lodged in his throat ever since the doctors first said the words ‘brain tumor.’

“I can’t live without you.” 

\---

Her only demand was that she die at home. She didn’t want to die in a hospital, and he promised her over and over again that she would get to die at home. 

But George has never been able to do anything right in his entire life, has always been a failure, so of course he breaks his promise. 

He doesn’t mean to, but life is cruel and Death loves to toy with him.

He’s at work—he had to go in today to sign a bill—when he gets the call. Adrienne is sobbing and at first George can’t understand her. She finally calms down enough to speak clearly.

“Martha collapsed and had to be taken to the hospital.” 

George staggers and swoons as black spots dance in front of his vision, and Lafayette catches him right before falls, carefully laying him out on the couch. 

When George comes to, Lafayette is hovering above him, dabbing his forehead with a stack of wet paper towels. He doesn’t say anything, just hands George a candy bar to get his blood sugar back up and drives him to the hospital at what can’t possibly be a safe or legal speed. 

The doctor tells them that Martha is still awake but reiterates that she won’t be for long. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, George starts running to her room—not a jog, but an actual all out sprint. Lafayette is hot on his heels. 

When he bursts into the room, Martha startles and her mouth quirks up into a smile. “You’re not supposed to run in the hospital, Georgie.”

“I love you,” he gasps out, afraid that if he doesn’t say it, she’ll die before hearing it. Her face softens and she beckons him over. 

“I love you too.”

Adrienne and Lafayette quietly leave the room and George squishes himself onto the bed with her. “I’m so sorry you’re not at home,” he says helplessly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Shh,” she shushes him, brushing her fingers through his hair that has long since grown back. “It’s okay sweet love. It’s okay. I got to spend my last months with you instead of this damn hospital. That’s really what mattered.”

George chokes on a sob and shakes his head. “Please don’t leave me. _Please_ ,” he begs. “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

“Oh Georgie,” she sighs. “It’s going to be okay. One day everything will be okay.”

George shakes his head and makes a high, whining sound. “ _No_. Nothing is ever going to be okay again. You can’t leave me here alone. I don’t—” George sucks in a shaky, gasping breath. “I don’t want to be alive without you.”

Martha shakes her head and grabs his jaw, her grip surprisingly strong as she jerks his head over to look at her. “George Washington, you listen to me.” She takes a deep breath as her lip starts to tremble. “You can’t kill yourself, okay?”

George recoils and tries to pull away from her, but she fixes him with that firm look that has always let him know she means business. “Are we clear? Can you promise me this? Please?”

He nods and sobs as he wraps his arms around himself, a feeble attempt to hold himself together. He can feel himself falling apart, his body cracking open to let his insides leak out between his fingers. 

Martha pulls him against her and kisses his head. “Don’t be afraid, Georgie,” she reminds him. “And don’t forget to fix the loose screw in that shelf in your closet. It’s going to come crashing down and knock you out one day.”

“I won’t,” he whispers. 

It’s the last thing they ever say to each other.

She's dead less than 24 hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like one of the longest chapters I've ever written and took me most of the day, so sorry if there are mistakes. It's a lot to edit through but I tried to get most of the mistakes. 
> 
> KILL MY EMO ASS. This was intensely fun to write b/c I'm apparently an evil person. But yeah holy shit. I hope this puts the beginning of this series/George's struggle getting over Martha into perspective!
> 
> ALSO, heart eyes emoji at low key sub George who is totally into Martha bossing him around. That was fun. 
> 
> Again, I'M SO SORRY. Scream at me in the comments lmao. 
> 
> Side note: still can't fcking believe I cried while writing this.


End file.
